PLAYBACK:stl July 2003

july 2003

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TALIB KWELI GETS BY ON QUALITY

By Ross Todd alib Kweli is a genius with the mic. When the Black Star record dropped in 1998, Kweli and Mos Def, his partner on the mic, were deemed leaders of a new brand of socially conscious hip-hop. On 2000’s Reflections Eternal collaboration with Cincinatti’s DJ Hit-Tek, Kweli blended his native Brooklyn with the Midwest underground sound.

Kweli’s first solo effort, Quality, released in November, mixes heady lyrics with club-banging beats. This spring’s hit single, “Get By,” brought Kweli some muchdeserved radio attention.

Its chorus struck a chord: “This morning I woke up/ Feeling brand new, and I jumped up/Feeling my highs and my lows/In my soul and my goals/Just to stop smokin’ and stop drinkin’/And I’ve been thinkin’, I’ve got my reasons/Just to get by.”

I sat down with Kweli after his appearance at SLU’s Springfest. Sandwiched between Ton Loc, Fabolous, and carnival rides, Kweli gave the crowd a dose of real hip-hop, proving once again that few things turn a parking lot into a party like a rap show. Here’s what he had to say about “adult responsiblity” and life on the road as an MC:

T

Since Quality was a solo project, did that put more pressure on you or give you more freedom?

The pressure always comes from me. I can’t let the label put pressure on me. I put pressure on myself, and that’s an issue sometimes. But it’s becoming less and less pressure as far as recording goes.

What is it about “Get By” that people identi fy with?

I put my heart into that song, and I recorded it like I was making a whole album. The same energy I put into making a whole album I put into that record, and I think the time is just right for it.

Your work on the latest Roots album is unre al. What’s it like working with them?

The Roots have shown me so much love. My career wouldn’t be where it’s at if it wasn’t for

them. You know they are the quintessential hiphop group. It’s amazing to work with them.

What about their live act?

There’s no better live show than the Roots, I think.

You’re headed out on the Vans Warped Tour this summer. What do you hope to get out of it?

Money. Record sales.

How do you find that balance between the com mercial and the art?

Well, it sort of finds you. Once you put something out, it’s commercially available for sale. You start out doing it for the love, but as you grow older and you get adult responsibilities, you can’t do it just for the love.

So, will we ever see “Kweli-Wear?”

I mean, I will do anything that I can.

Conflict in hip-hop. It’s been there since the beginning and now, with the stuff between Shady/Aftermath and Murder, Inc. between Nas and Jay-Z. Where do you come down on the issue?

Well, it’s a double-edged sword, because the competition and the conflict drive the music to be better. It’s like improvisation in jazz—it makes it more exciting. But when it spills out into street-level shit, it’s more a testament to our communities rather than hip-hop music. It’s misleading to say, “Well, this is a hip-hop problem.”

It’s a problem in the black community. It’s a problem in poor oppressed communities.

Regardless of what music people listen to, people are going to have beefs and find non-peaceful ways to settle them. That’s unfortunate regardless of what music it is.

Do you think the conflict is fueled more by the media, the egos, the fans…

I can’t speak for every particular conflict in hip-hop, but I would say that 99 percent of them…I mean, they’re rappers. They do what I do for a living. They travel around and don’t have time to be fighting with anybody really. I can’t speak for all of it, but I think most of it is just some rap shit.

PROFILE Nina Simone…I know she’s been a big influence on you. Would you say a little bit about what she meant to you?

Yeah. Nina Simone spoke from her own true voice, and it wasn’t a trained voice. She spoke to things that were going on in the world. You know the success of her career suffered because of the ground that she stood on.

Do you see other folks coming up in the same mold as her?

Yeah. Music is beautiful. It is always going to be beautiful regardless of what the record industry is doing.

What about her social consciousness?

I don’t think music can be responsible to be socially conscious. People have to be socially conscious. People have to hold other people accountable. If you put that on music, you’re destroying the creativity and the funkiness and the freshness. If you can do it, fine. Do it. If you know something to be the truth, then you are responsible to represent that truth. But I think it’s too much responsibility to put that on music.

I understand that it’s because music affects people and reaches people in such a dynamic way. If something were true and it was put into music, it would affect more people. But we have to hold the whole community down for that. Music never leads. Music follows. Music follows where the people are at.

Who are you following?

My personal influences are my parents. My musical influences are too vast to start naming.

If I name one, I’m forgetting twenty.

WHEN THE

CULTURE POPS

Playback St. Louis Pop Culture

In July...we’re there Publisher Two Weasels Press LLC

WILL KIMBROUGH July 9, Frederick’s At Off Broadway last August, Will Kimbrough was both charming and wickedly talented. He gave a dazzling one-man performance, alternating between acoustic guitar and dobro. His voice is beautiful and haunting, at times reminiscent of Neil Finn. Will Kimbrough is all soul, with plenty of heart. And, man, does he play one wicked guitar.

X July 16, Pop’s Formed in 1977 after songwriter/bassist John Doe met Exene Cervenka at a Venice poetry workshop, X were the quintessential L.A. punk rockers. In 1998, founding member Billy Zoom returned for a series of on again/off again shows. Don’t miss their unique, intelligent, and humorous songs.

POI DOG PONDERING

July 17, Blueberry Hill The ever-evolving musical collective has just released its ninth CD on Premonition Records, entitled In Seed Comes Fruit.

With a 15-year history and counting, the current Poi Dog lineup is a 13-piece ensemble who play an idiosyncratic mix of soul, latin, urban jazz, house, and alternative rock.

Contents Profile Talib Kweli Gets By on Quality . . . . . . . . . .1 Words That Matter: David Clewell . . . . . . . .3 On the Road Bonnaroo Festival . . . . .4 Pretty Girls Make Graves 5 Film in the Lou . . .5 Play by Play . . . . .6 Firewater, Goldfrapp, Grandaddy, Lilys, Magnolia

Summer, Paloalto, Liz Phair, Prince Paul, Radiohead, Viza Noir, Steve Wynn & the Miracle 3 Backstage Pass . .10 Mayday, Just Add Water, Foo Fighters, Glossary, Bobby Bare Jr., Flaming Lips, Dianogah, Bela Fleck & the Flecktones, Regan Three to See . . . .12 Cover Story . . . .14 SuicideGirls

Now Playing . . . .16 The Hulk, 28 Days Later, Fassbinder Retrospective Elliot Goes . . . .20 Local Scenery . .21 Curmudgeon . . . .22 College Radio Confessions . . . .23 Take Five . . . . . . .24 Alanna Nash

Culture in the Community . . . . .25 8minuteDating Page by Page . . . .25 Margaret Atwood You Are Here . . .26 Just Trying to Make a Living Advice: Entertainment Law . . . . . .27 A Begi nner’s Guide to Copyrighting Music

Managing Editor Laura Hamlett Associate Editor/Art Director Jim Dunn Contributing Editors Bryan A. Hollerbach/Kevin Renick Contributing Writers Kyle Beachy, J. Church, Leah Forsythe, Becky Gehling, Jessica Gluckman, Laura Hamlett, Dan Heaton, Cory Hoehn, Bryan A. Hollerbach, John Kujawski, Rob Levy, Daniel K. Mannion, Dawn O’Neall, Wade Paschall, Andrew Rea, Kevin Renick, Stephen Schenkenberg, Josh Sutterfield, Pete Timmermann, Ross Todd, Rev. Mike Tomko, Michele Ulsohn, Taylor Upchurch, Steven Vance, Rudy Zapf Intern Anne Valente Contributing Photographers Becky Gehling, Solana Rice, Steven Vance On the Cover Suicide Erin; photo courtesy SuicideGirls.com Printing by Kohler and Sons Inc. Nancy Allen • 314-428-9800 Distribution Two Weasels Press LLC

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july 2003

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Words That Matter: David Clewell teacher at the undergraduate level than at the Nestled deep in a quiet, second-floor corner of graduate. That’s my prejudice. So many people Pearson House, which is itself nestled deep in a think these days, just by getting accepted into a quiet, northwest corner of Webster University's decent M.F.A. program, ‘hey, I’m the bees-ncampus, is the office of David Clewell. It’s a small knees of a writer.’ The egos that you’re suddenly room—about the size of a generous walk-in closdealing with generally outstrip the degree of talet—that is littered, in the truest sense of the ent…that I just find the best of the undergraduword, with two types of objects. There are the ate talents easier to work with.” eye-grabbing collected figures, a wide Recently, the University of array of kitsch honoring Charlie the "I hated poetry Wisconsin Press released The Tuna, the Big Boy Hamburger boy, and variations on flying-saucer bug- when I was in Low End of Higher Things. By eyed men. A bevy of bijoux strewn this point in his career, one high and low. Second are the books. school," he which began with his first pubBooks everywhere, piled with what lished collection in 1977, the explained. It seems complete disregard for genre or same year he attained his B.A., alphabetization, stacked haphazardly was too Clewell has achieved a poetic in a way that identifies Clewell as version of that rare confluence of someone who actually reads what’s maudlin, too humor, factual insight, and on his shelf. Will I Think of You, a fanciful, too heart-prodding emotion that one finds in the best fiction of Haruki book of Leonard Nemoy love poems Murakami, Don DeLillo, or David sharing a shelf with D.H. Lawrence much about Foster Wallace (and without the and Paradise Lost. intellectual arrogance of “I’ve always had a penchant for "winged horses Jonathan Franzen). He’ll follow poetry of the stars,” Clewell flying through “Nostradamus Had to Know,” in explained. “My reputation around which he writes, “I’m betting here is, ‘Ask Clewell, he’ll at least the sky…" skinny Nostradamus must have know about it.’ I might not literally taken it on the chin/more than be able to stomach my way through once: that four-sided hat he sported wasn’t big Nemoy, but figuratively speaking, I want to be on the 16th-century playground,” with the emoable to appreciate Nemoy and Milton… It’s like tional wrenching of “Yes,” a husband’s interior putting on a record: am I in a Sinatra kind of monologue in response to his wife’s question: mood, or an Elvis Costello kind of mood?”

“But you still love me, right?” It is a question Clewell, a round, jolly bear of a man with a Clewell so powerfully describes as, “the single dense, sprawling, ash-gray beard and a thinning thing none of us can honestly stop asking ourhead of hair, came to St. Louis in the early ’80s selves/about whoever’s nestled so tightly inside to pursue his M.F.A. in poetry at Washington those naturally percussive/chambers of the University. “It’s not like St. Louis emerged as heart.” some exotic spot; I think I’d been through here But far from emotive force, it was the musical once or twice. One thing in particular was Don possibilities of poetry that first enticed Clewell.

Finkel. I said, gee, if there’s one poet who could “I hated poetry when I was in school,” he never be accused of being academically fashionexplained. It was too maudlin, too fanciful, too able or just going through the motions, it was much about winged horses flying through the Finkel.” Afterward, inertia kept Clewell in town, sky… It wasn’t until I was close to getting out of where he worked several shifts at Left Bank high school, when I serendipitously ran into a Books. When a teaching position at Webster teacher who really got me excited about it, became available in 1985, he again turned to because he seemed to believe it was as much Finkel for guidance, and he’s been here ever about the rhythms and the cadences and the since. sounds.”

“This has been a great town for me to hide in Once he delved, he delved deep. and get the work done. Here I’m just a local Working at a bookstore, he develpoet,” he said. Except not exactly. He’s also the oped what remains today his chair of a Webster undergraduate creative writstrongest advice to new writers: ing program that has quietly become one of the “Read your ass off. Those are the better ones in the country. Clewell explained, teachers.” He read all that he “Personally speaking, I can do more good as a

could and found the people he enjoyed “were much more for the music, I never worried so much about the content. One of the first persons I read was [William Carlos] Williams…who really got me thinking about the possibilities. In my work then and now the most important thing to me is the line. So that even when you get to a book like [The Low End of…] where the breaths are long, I’m still not stopping because I’ve run out of room. With Williams, you really begin to hear American speech, in line.” From Williams, it was a short leap to Whitman. “There was poetry in America before him, but until Whitman there was never really an ‘American poetry.’”

David Clewell is an American poet. Billy Collins, the Poet Laureate of the United States, thinks he’s a damned good one, at that. But what’s even nicer, perhaps, is the fact that Clewell is such a good person, the kind of person who is literally everyone’s favorite teacher. He’s friendly and compassionate and has an amazing, great gust of a laugh that seems to erupt from a warm core deep inside of his person. Maybe Clewell himself says it best: “I don’t need that in a writer, but it’s always a nice bit of gravy when someone lives an okay life on the planet.”

No matter what success he achieves, you get the feeling Clewell will continue to hide in his tiny corner office on a littleknown campus in our neglected city, right where he wants to be. And that’s just gravy for the rest of us.

CLEWELL PHOTO: CLAUDIA BURRIS

By Kyle Beachy

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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O N THE ROAD

Bonnaroo 2003

By Becky Gehling Manchester, Tennessee

Six hours on the road + six to get in + three days of burning sun with no shower = one of the best times of my life at Bonnaroo 2003. If every day could be filled with the simplicities of genuinely friendly people and a diverse palette of music, perhaps the world would be an easier place to live. Okay, so maybe the hippie mentality got to me just a little while I was surrounded by peaceful Bonnaroonies spawned from the Ben Kweller

Marc Roberge of O.A.R.

James Brown

Photos by Becky Gehling

Woodstock generation. But I was amazed at the equal number of everyday “Joes and Janes” jammin’ to Widespread, ready to hit the next show, looking for the closest grilled cheese, and ready to share a slice of watermelon with their neighbor. At the root of all this happiness was a ton of bands on the Manchester, Tennessee, farm that was the weekend home to over 80,000 campers.

Here are a few acts we weren’t about to miss: James Brown—Sunday marked the Godfather of Soul’s seventieth birthday, and it seems he hasn’t missed a beat. Well, maybe he’s slowed down a little, but he’s still got the funky, sharp moves and sounds that makes bodies bob and jerk to his beat.

Taking the stage with his entourage of dancers, musicians, and backup singers, all dressed in the same shiny royal blue and silver, Brown did his thing for about four songs. After a break to sing “Happy Birthday,” he introduced a guest, describing her as the next Janis Joplin. The woman came out looking like a middle-aged Vegas showgirl in her shiny outfit, with Cherlength hair that was some unnatural red. When she began to sing, it became obvious her voice was not worthy of such an introduction.

Hundreds, if not thousands, left the main stage to check out moe. next door. But back to the Godfather…

In the same way Brown can captivate a crowd, he can also grab a press tent full of media people with words that flow from his mouth like groovy “huh, good God” dance moves. When a reporter asked him what he thought about thousands of white hippie kids dancing around to his music, Brown replied smoothly, “Americans dance to the music…when we had two water fountains, it took away from the funk.”

Ben Kweller—Always dear to me, Ben Kweller won a few more hearts this weekend with his charming performance and personality. Standing no taller than 5 feet 8 inches, the former frontman of Radish sounds like a mix between Ben Folds and Beck, as my roommate has always described him. BK switched between guitar and keyboards throughout the set, diversifying his sound to accompany articulate coming-of-age lyrics that are wise beyond his 22 years. Later, we saw BK mingling in the press tent, Heineken in hand, just as happy to be at Bonnaroo as any of the 80,000 Bonnarookers who paid to be there.

Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players—The Trachtenburg family, composed of mom, dad, and nine-year-old Rachel on drums, was a fresh concept welcomed on Saturday afternoon. Jason, “the dad,” led songs that were inspired by slides from flea markets and garage sales. The family

goes a little They Might Be Giants–style, but definitely has a feisty edge that gives them a unique identity. Perhaps it’s Rachel’s juvenile voice that brings that punch to some of the anti-war, anti–organized religion topics touched on by the family. Tina, “the mom,” projects the slides to a screen behind the musicians. They’re not slated for St. Louis on their summer tour, but hopefully we’ll see them again soon!

Mr. Brownstone—Where is the only place you’ll ever see hippies slamming into each other in a mosh pit? A Guns N’ Roses tribute band at Bonnaroo! Though they are the last mentioned, Mr. Brownstone was by far the most entertaining act of the weekend. Bonnaroosies took a trip back to the days when the nation bought stock in Aqua Net and rocked with the group that looked, sounded, and moved like their GNR equivalent. I went into this one with few expectations, but left the stage realizing that, without a time warp, Mr. Brownstone is the closest I’ll get to a real GNR performance.

Fortunately for our sanity, we were lucky enough to have a tent spot where we could hear performances from the main stage. After snapping photos from the front, we headed back to enjoy some shade and beverages accompanied by the music of the legendary Allman Brothers (with Warren Haynes), Neil Young, the Wailers, Ben Harper, Widespread Panic, and Jack Johnson, all from the comfort of our own place.

Yonder Mountain String Band also played a killer set at the second stage, which we heard sitting under the shade of a distant tree.

As always, there were some acts I regretfully missed, including the Flaming Lips. Their midnight to 4 a.m. show was the talk of the festival.

From what I heard and read, lead singer Wayne Coyne brought out high-powered lights and 20 people in animal suits. The set included fake blood, confetti, and a “Dark Side of the Moon” cover accompanied by clips from The Wizard of Oz. I’m still kicking myself!

We also couldn’t make the festival’s beloved closer, the Dead. Kentucky native Joan Osborne joined the remaining members of the Grateful Dead for the much-anticipated show. We had to leave Manchester before they started in order to make it back to the real world in time to get a shower before work on Monday.

Others we couldn’t get to but wanted to see were Robert Randolph and the Family Band, the Roots, Medeski Martin and Wood, G. Love and Special Sauce, Mix Master Mike, Liz Phair, North Mississippi All-Stars, Keller Williams, Bela Fleck, the Funky Meters, and Nickel Creek, to name a few. Hopefully, I’ll catch them at Bonnaroo 2004!

july 2003

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FILM

IN

Backstage Pass

By Leah Forsythe

Pretty Girls Make Graves

Welcome to the print debut of Film in the Lou, a column all about film happenings in our town. If you have topics for Leah, send ’em along to us at info@playbackstl.com or to Playback St. Louis/Film, P.O. Box 6768, St. Louis, Missouri 63144-9998.

The Bottleneck, Lawrence, Kansas, June 7 Legendary. This isn’t a word that is used often, especially with today’s music. Everyone sounds like someone else. This often leads to fame, glory, and big bucks, but it also leads to being forgotten. There are, however, a few groups that may be heading toward legendary status, and Pretty Girls Make Graves is one of them.

It’s a long drive to Lawrence. Along the way, I had time to think. I was mostly hoping that this “legendary” band lived up to the hype. There is a lot of hype surrounding Pretty Girls. You see, PGMG is something of a supergroup, featuring various members of Kill Sadie, Deathwish Kids, and the beloved Murder City Devils. This history is hard to live up to.

Pretty Girls Make Graves definitely lives up to the hype. With their backgrounds, they even surpass it. They are taking their experiences from different bands to form a very cohesive and stellar whole.

PGMG started their set with the first song off the album Good Health.

The song, “Speakers Push the Air,” is about the music that changes your life. Even though it was performed photo courtesy Pretty Girls Make Graves brilliantly, I was a little disappointed. I thought this meant that they were going to hustle through every song in the order of the album and then call it a night.

My fear turned out to be unfounded. They launched into “Chemical, Chemical,” a song from their upcoming album, A New Romance. This song was musically complex, and the lyrics were electric. All I could think at this point was that the new album will be exceptional.

As the night went on, Pretty Girls Make Graves played more from their current album. “More Sweet Soul” was an audience favorite. “If You Hate Your Friends, You’re Not Alone” inspired some thrashing and head bobs.

One of my many favorites of the evening was “By the Throat,” a somewhat angry and rebellious song with lyrics such as “I am choking and I can’t breathe.” This song is good on Good Health, but it is flawless live.

Andrea Zollo’s vocals were the perfect focal point for this song. Her schoolyard girl gang taunts were cynical and pissed-off with an awesome sense of melody. J. Clark’s guitar gave the song soul and depth; he did a great job in Nathan Thelen’s absence. Nick DeWitt’s drumming was powerful and gave the song its raging backbone. Derek Fudesco’s bass made the floor shake with rhythm, and it made us want to dance our aggressions away.

Another favorite of the evening was the lovely and melodic “The Getaway,” a stunning, keyboard-infused melody. Live, this sweet song about running away from all your problems and frustrations with someone you love was clearly epic. PGMG showed us that they were talented musicians who could handle anything, even a love song. It was the emotional high point of the show.

As the show continued, the band played more songs from their current album, some songs off the previous EP, and more new and exciting songs from the upcoming album. They inspired the whole audience. The girls wanted to be tough but cool like Zollo. The boys where mimicking Fudesco and Clark with their air bass and air guitars, respectively. I even caught a few toward the back thrashing and drumming like DeWitt. We all danced and, in some cases, head-bobbed our way through the evening.

That night proved that Pretty Girls Make Graves is more than a flavorof-the-week band; they’re here to stay. This band has a sincere love of what they do, and that is what will make them legendary.

—Dawn O’Neall

THE

LOU

Well, it’s July here under the Arch and summer is in full swing. But what a perfect Spring for a wedding! Marriages aside, film is hot right now in STL. Four thousand of you hit up the much-advertised casting call in May for L.A.-based Crusader Entertainment’s latest project, which should get wide distribution with the writer-director team of Angelo Pizzo and David Anspaugh of Hoosiers and Rudy. Starring Wes Bentley, Gerard Butler, and Gavin Rossdale, The Game of Their Lives is the story of the 1950 World Cup team based on the novel by Geoffrey Douglas (currently out of print; if you really want the book, you can grab it at Amazon.com for $200. Yes, that’s hardback!). The big joke on set is that you can tell which members of the crew are from Cali because they’re all in flip-flops. I guess they feel lucky around all the heavy equipment.

Also in production in Fayette, Missouri is another remake of a book, Killer Diller by Clyde Edgerton. Bottleneck stars Will Lee Scott, Fred Willard, Lucas Black, W. Earl Brown, and Ashley Johnson, to name a few. Written and directed by local Missourian Tricia Brock, Bottleneck has a much smaller budget than Game, but also a great cast. The day I was on set, there were 1,500 unpaid extras from Kansas City, St. Louis, and Columbia who happily left with a book and a T-shirt.

If Norah Jones is too jazzy for you, check out Grammy® award winner Jesse Harris’s latest CD, The Secret Sun, for a similarly mellow sound without all the lounge. Look for Harris’s new music video for “All My Life” on VH1 in a couple of months, which he recently filmed here in town.

Last month was the third annual St. Louis Filmmakers Showcase presented by Cinema St. Louis. For five days, the organization formerly known as St. Louis International Film Festival showed only films by St. Louisans. That’s a lot of film!

There is much film activity this summer in the Lou! So while you’re grilling your turkey dogs and garden burgers—or the classic Midwestern all-beef fare—keep your eyes peeled. You may catch a glimpse of Wes Bentley or David Anspaugh—though Anspaugh might be hard to spot in his Hollywood incognito getup of big hat and even bigger sunglasses.

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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P L AY P L AY

BY

FIREWATER: THE MAN ON THE BURNING TIGHTROPE (Jetset Records) It’s a beautiful life when you love what you do. This is the Firewater gospel.

Firewater is a noteworthy band that started out as an indie supergroup featuring members from Cop Shoot Cop, the Jesus Lizard, and Soul Coughing. Firewater isn’t a supergroup anymore.

Their lineup has changed several times, but it currently features Tod A., Tamir Muskat, Oren Kaplan, and Paul Wallfisch. For the first time in a few years, Firewater is just a band—and they have never sounded better.

Firewater creates dazzling and alluring music from the ugliness of everyday life. Their song subjects range from boredom to missed chances and even suicide. Firewater gives these subjects a human touch, a soul. Their music is very honest and very real. This is very apparent on their fourth release, The Man on the Burning Tightrope.

The album starts off with “Fanfare,” a bright instrumental piece that is reminiscent of that glimmer of hope at the beginning of the day.

And much like that sliver of hope, the song is fleeting. “Fanfare” blends perfectly into the next tune, “Anything at All.” This is something of a shattered love song. The chorus of the song is, “I would give you anything, if I had anything at all,” although it also reminds you of the dark side of love, with lines such as “Suckers are willing to take anything at all.”

Another great melody on this album is “Dark Days Indeed.” This song plays like a drunken gypsy caravan lost in the wilds of Eastern Europe. Despite its title, lyrics like “I made the devil dance for me and spat into his eye!” show us that this song is somewhat joyful and definitely rebellious. It reminds us that there are many ways to view life; often it’s through a good bottle of bourbon and a little dance.

The title track casts Tod A. as the ringmaster. It’s a moody piece lavish with carnival sounds. This is seemingly about your appearance to others. At the point when you are truly damaged, the ringmaster reminds you that you could have been somebody. That hurts most of all.

“The Truth Hurts” is strange; it’s basically an answering machine message backed by cheesy, ’60s pop sounds (although you may want to listen carefully to Nicole Blackman’s fiery message). “Secret” seems to be a continuation of “The Truth Hurts.” The band showcases a new, twangy, Tex-Mex sound for this song. Awash in sleazy trumpets and drenched in cheap booze, “The Vegas Strip” is a drunk with a showgirl hanging off each arm.

And “Ponzi’s Revenge” reveals the return of the illustrious Ponzi. Guess what? He’s stolen all of your money and is living it up in the Caribbean. Like Ponzi, you should dance your troubles away to this song.

Firewater has consistently proven that they are a great and diverse band. Throughout their previous albums, they have explored such assorted sounds as Indian wedding music, Middle Eastern folk rock, and good ol’ rock ’n’ roll. However, on The Man on the Burning Tightrope, they finally find a good balance among their distinct sounds. It’s very obvious on this album that Firewater love what they do and, in the process, have shown the rest of us that it’s a beautiful life.

—Dawn O’Neall GOLDFRAPP: BLACK CHERRY (Mute) Acoustic and unplugged are out of style if you ask the duo of Goldfrapp, Wil Gregory (synthesizers) and Alison Goldfrapp (vocals, synthesizers, and namesake). Their sophomore effort, Black Cherry, detours from the dreamy and ethereal in favor of industrial electro melodies and suggestive raunch of their new offering.

Goldfrapp kept their followers enthralled with the atmospheric sounds and surreally thoughtprovoking lyrics only for the listener to wonder if Goldfrapp were the only ones who truly understand how their thoughts were meant to be conveyed. Black Cherry paints a clearer picture of the message of suggestion. It might not be as clear as a precisely focused telescopic lens, but it describes the panoramic scene versus a fragment in earlier works.

So what is the message? Sex. Or perhaps the mere hint of it makes it a more sensual experience for the ears than blatant innuendo. The first single, “Train,” is the electro-glam tour de force which moves like a caterpillar stuck in an electrical socket. “Plastic brain scar, I want laser, I’m your chauffeur, with high gloss highs, take you where you want.” The harsh synthetic instrumen-

tation combined with Goldfrapp’s sultry-with-ahint-of-classy tarnish makes “Train” an underrated gem that many high-scale topless bars will overlook when their DJ shops for sleazy hip-hop and Top 40 ironic candy pop at the local retailer.

Goldfrapp can offer solemn moments amid the twinge of quivering tin can beats that tickle your ears and arouse the imagination and wonder of the gazing but dim reach into realistic consciousness. Case in point, “Deep Honey”: “You don’t like the dark fringed by the silver sea, always brave and pert, Sunday sun your up.”

And “Forever”: “Write it down but don’t send the letter, when it shines it’s forever, here I wanna be a stranger.” The peak of self-inquisition and longing is not often seen best in third person from the listener’s perspective. This record makes sense of the ominous and diffused as if the lyrics are coming from the chaise lounge, fishing for affirmation and answers.

The beauty of Black Cherry also comes from its frankness in “Twist”: “Before U go and leave this town,/want to see you one more time,/put your dirty angel face between my legs and knicker lace.” Ask fans of the duo and they will show their appreciation for Goldfrapp’s eccentric and ironic lyric pairings with the notion of what exactly they’re doing with the instruments used. “I’m in love with a strict machine,/when you send me a pulse, feel a wave of new love through me,” says “Strict Machine,” the perfect song missing from the ’80s comic-slasher Maximum Overdrive.

Half of Black Cherry is an electronically aural carnival for people who still support Atari. The other half is for people who playfully consider installing a chrome pole in the middle of their den for dancing.

—Cory Hoehn GRANDADDY: SUMDAY (V2/Will Records) Nature versus technology. Man versus machine. Man as machine? This seems to be the fear of Grandaddy, who, after three albums and several EPs, still obsess over the sad state of postindustrial society. In a good way. The Sophtware Slump proved to be one of the best records of the final years of the previous millen-

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nium, exploring technology through grand, operatic synth textures, alcoholic robots, and rusting appliances. “Give in,” it cried. “There’s little hope.” The album was a triumph, musically and thematically.

Which brings us to Sumday, the California band’s new release. As despondent as The Sophtware Slump was, Sumday bristles with acceptance, the next step on the stairway to admitting your fear of the future. Chugging guitars replace the airiness of their former effort, and frontman Jason Lytle sounds, well, happy. At least for a while.

While the brilliance of The Sophtware Slump lies in the emotive range of the music, Sumday allows its listener to ride a wave of similarity, perhaps to echo the general feeling of “okayness” that the album proclaims for its first two-thirds. Thematically, this is a grand idea, but the album suffers for it. The first seven tracks tread the same water: mid-tempo, four-minute pop nuggets, complete with acoustic strums and viscous analog synths. On their own, each is a strong effort, with highlights including the opener, “Now It’s On,” and “‘Yeah’ Is What We Had.” But when all are strung together, the sequence gets rather boring. Where is the range of Sophtware? Where are those troughs and peaks?

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It’s almost as though the first two-thirds of Sumday is disposable, as though the band favored its ideas over substance.

Which brings me to the final five songs. I mentioned the “okay-ness” in the first seven songs, but I did not mention that the feeling erodes as soon as “Saddest Vacant Lot in All the World” begins its first pathetic piano tinklings. From that point on, we see what Grandaddy can do, the landscapes they can create. While “Stray Dog and the Chocolate Shake” is reminiscent of Under the Western Freeway’s “A.M. 180,” it is more careful and more poignant. By “The Warming Sun,” the album’s true apex, it’s obvious that Grandaddy cannot escape its sadness. Lytle quietly pines for a lost love, emphasizes his own predilection to lie and cheat, and speaks quite frankly to humankind’s separation from itself, suggesting that maybe the machines are more honest. Beautiful and baroque, Sumday’s final tracks demonstrate the ability of one of America’s most exciting bands, one that, even when making a misstep, can simultaneously create some of the most exquisite music out right now.

—Andrew Rea LILYS: PRECOLLECTION (Manifesto) Hold on a second; I’m thinking of how to write this review without invoking the name of

Ray Davies. Rich in ’60s British Invasion-isms or not, Precollection deserves to be treated as something more than a mere nostalgia act. So before we begin, let’s acknowledge the prominent influence of the Kinks on Lilys frontman Kurt Heasley, a Philadelphian who sings as if he grew up along the Mersey, and then forget that influence for the rest of this review.

Precollection is a solid, summery album that draws as much from shoegazer pop as it does from the subgenre I have promised not to mention in this review. Distorted electric guitar streams course over cleanly picked acoustic parts. Sequenced drums share space comfortably with man-powered beats. Heasley’s voice, with its affected British accent, hovers in the higher registers, sometimes full-bodied and sometimes fey, warbling personal poetry with psychedelic overtones.

Precollection’s songs reflect a band confident in establishing its sound while avoiding a tiresome sameness, creating dynamic songs with interesting sounds. “Melusina” pairs sunshiny guitar chords with hand-played drums.

“Squares” is a fast number layering chiming guitars and shiny, clean drumbeats. It’s highly reminiscent of— Oh, right, I’m not going there, so I won’t tell you Who I had in mind. “Mystery School Assembly” rides over a looped sample of brushed cymbals. Closer “365”’s fuzzed-out continued on next page

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Play by Play guitar dutifully chugs through a changing scenery of flanging atmospheres, rapidly strummed acoustic guitar, and psychedelic vocals, practically promising a build-up that never shows.

There are a few misses (“Meditations on Speed”), but taken in the context of genre, Precollection is an excellent album. Removed completely from its context, it’s an excellent album, as well.

—Jessica Gluckman MAGNOLIA SUMMER: LEVERS AND PULLEYS (Undertow) Seconds into Magnolia Summer’s debut album, a dejected voice drones, “This is not what I expected.” This first line of the opening track, “Pushing the Needle Too Hard,” may reflect what listeners will think as they wallow in the fluctuating ambiance created by Chris Grabau and company. The Riverfront Times recently nominated the band for “Best St. Louis Americana,” a classification not without merit and inevitable due to the group’s blending of traditional folk/country instrumentation with modern effects and attitude.

Grabau, with varying contributions from one of Undertow’s founding members, Mark Ray, has delicately and delightfully amalgamated the standard guitar/bass/drum sound with a variety of textures. Grabau and Ray, along with seasoned musicians from Nadine, Waterloo, the Rockhouse Ramblers, and Bagheera, lend their well-crafted abilities to rotating positions on a plethora of instruments, including piano, keys, synths, violin, and accordion. Even a drum loop is used to give “Maybesomeday” a modern, vibrant appeal behind Grabau’s whispering vocals. The fresh, earthy production allows each instrument breathing room; the listener can easily distinguish slide guitar from violin as they duel during “Standing Still.” The vocals appear distant at times, but this element lends itself to the album’s spacious quality.

On Levers and Pulleys, every track has a mood

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of its own, but individuality doesn’t compromise the album’s continuity. The album’s roller coaster–like sequence won’t bore you with monotonous or repetitious melodies, either. Instead, it balances the enlightened reflections found in “Baton Rouge” with the brooding attitude of “Figure Ground.” Track 7, “Canary,” with its answering machine vocal quality and melancholy tone, will continue to haunt the listener well into the harmonious, mid-tempo “Your Brightest Consolation.” While some of the more inspirational moments are created during the mellow tracks, there is no lack of driving drumbeats or tasty guitars (“Wish You Well”).

Evidently, Grabau, a resident of St. Louis, is the primary focus of Magnolia Summer. The liner notes credit him as sole songwriter and co-producer with Ray. According to the Web site (www.magnoliasummer.com), the end product is the result of two years’ work. This type of focus and dedication is often too rare.

Overall, Grabau and Ray have been able to capture a clear recording without overproducing.

Even the artwork—with its transposing pictures of industry and nature—reflects the subtle blends within the album’s content. Magnolia Summer has detected the common ground between modern rock and country. The band’s style can be appreciated equally by someone who isn’t fond of country music’s twang and by the opponents of modern rock’s increasingly generic format.

—J. Church PALOALTO: HEROES AND VILLAINS (American Recordings) Although Paloalto’s truly amazing self-titled debut CD never quite reached the level of mass recognition and popularity that it deserved, it did earn itself a legion of fans, including many from within the often overly critical music industry. Scott Weiland, who became aware of Paloalto when they were the opening act on 2000’s Stone Temple Pilots tour, called them a “beautiful lush adventurous pop hybrid,” and

Sugar Ray’s Mark McGrath appropriately referred to their debut as the “first brilliant record of the new millennium.” Perhaps the most important and influential Paloalto fan, however, is legendary producer Rick Rubin, who was impressed enough with the band’s unfinished demo to sign them to his American Recordings label, then subsequently produced both their debut in 2000, and their just-released sophomore effort,, Heroes and Villains.

Their music has often been compared to bands like Radiohead and U2, both in terms of songwriting and the moody, soaring falsetto quality of vocalist James Grundler.

Although the quartet hails from California, their style sounds much more European than American, making them one of the current American “buzz” bands of British music publications—not surprising, considering that Paloalto cites groups like Pink Floyd and the Catherine Wheel as major influences. However, their music delves significantly into their own individual territory, evoking a more melodic, modern psychedelic aura that is simultaneously gently refreshing and mysteriously dark.

There is also no shortage of lushness throughout the disc’s 12 tracks, which sound increasingly better with every listen. The first single, the edgy “Fade Out/In” has proven to be more than just ideal for the radio airwaves; it was also featured on the Daredevil soundtrack and is currently being used in the commercial promo for the new Fox television series The O.C. Both “Breathe In” and “Hangmen” could have easily been found on Radiohead’s The Bends and are equally strong contenders for the role of potential second single. “What You Are” shows off Florian Reinert’s fine drumming skills with its syncopated, driving beat, and “Sleeping Citizens” features some beautiful contributions

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from a string section, complementing the melody without overpowering it.

As they did on their first CD, Paloalto saved the best and most epic-sounding song for last.

“Seed” is a multilayered, soaring, guitar-laced, hypnotic piece of music that leaves the listener wanting more—precisely what a truly great song should do.

Grundler states in the band’s bio that Heroes and Villains was created during a time of many changes and questions within the group, as they attempted to figure out exactly where the band stood.

“Every song is therapeutic in a different way and tells stories to help work out our inner demons,” he says. “We are a strong band now.

You can hear it in the music, we are more of a unit.” It is that highly evident feeling of strength and unity on this CD that should elevate Paloalto to the forefront of popular notice, where it belongs.

—Michele Ulsohn LIZ PHAIR: LIZ PHAIR (Capitol) Liz Phair seems out to prove something with her new self-titled recording. The Chicago-bred singer’s significance in the music industry has waned in recent years: her last full-length release, 1998’s whitechocolatespaceegg, garnered little attention outside her regular fanbase (although it had some choice tunes), and her live shows earned a reputation for being erratic, with Phair’s openly acknowledged stage fright preventing her from truly rocking out and enjoying herself the way fellow rock babe Sheryl Crow, for example, usually does. Phair seemed to drift a long way from the “heady” days of her Exile in Guyville debut, which pricked up plenty of ears with its overtly sexual lyrics and strippeddown production, elements that made quite an impact when delivered by a well-scrubbed midwestern gal who looked like the prom queen at Anytown High School. After the end of the Lilith Fair thing, which Phair had ridden the fringes of, hard-workin’ fillies like Jewel milked one formula (wholesome pop balladeering with just a hint of flirtation), while Crow developed into a consummate rocker chick, and edgier, more self-contained female singer/songwriters like Cat Power, Ani DiFranco, and Lisa Germano garnered the attentions of the alternative press.

Phair seemed left out, partly by choice (she took time off to get married, move to the West Coast, and have a child) and partly by apparent writer’s block. So there’s a sense that she’s attempting to reestablish her artistic credentials with Liz Phair, her fourth full-length platter, and you feel the weight of expectation from the record’s first song, “Extraordinary,” a vigorous mid-tempo rocker. “I am extraordinary/If you’d ever get to know me,” Phair sings, fueling the daydreams of her male admirers, as she’s always

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Just how could any real fan of modern rock fail to appreciate Thom Yorke’s emotive, character-rich vocals? The man can sing to the high heavens or to the bowels of hell; he can be sweet and tender or ferocious and angry. He’s one of the most instantly recognizable vocalists in rock, without a doubt, and he has learned the secret of saying a lot with seemingly very little.

As most of Hail to the Thief was recorded in two weeks in L.A., it has mostly shorter songs with simple, resonating chords, played cleanly and juxtaposed effectively against bits of keyboard and vibrant percussion. Take the opener, “2+2=5.”

Jonny Greenwood plugs in (the record begins with him doing so) and plays a couple of melancholy chords, drummer Phil Selway taps out the simplest of beats, and Yorke’s voice enters, soft, clear, and calm. But since this whole record is about the death of calm or the search for calm amid chaos, the band quickly amps the track up to a “Paranoid Android”–level of fury, with the guitars wailing and Yorke sounding as if he’s about to come unglued. “There is no way out/You can scream and you can shout/It is too late now/Because you have not been paying attention,” Yorke bleats, in what is most certainly an indictment of complacence in Western society as Dubya and his minions assumed power and began dismantling longstanding institutions and freedoms. There’s a pattern of songs on the album alternating between calm and fury; “Sit Down. Stand Up.” is another: ominous, fragmented piano chords and a simple drum machine give way to a frenetic burst of clattering percussion, with Yorke shouting “The raindrops/the raindrops” 47 times (I counted).

Great stuff is yet to come: the moody and relatively straightforward ballad “Sail to the Moon”; the vintage Radiohead rouser “Go to Sleep,” which features crisp acoustic guitars chugging away and a wonderful lock-step rhythm that kicks in at the minute-and-a-half mark; and the current single, “There There,” which sounds like a classic. The inspired unity of the band on this track is obvious: the bass and drums are flawless, the guitars have a wonderfully jagged edge, and Yorke sings his heart out, doing a little self-harmonizing after a verse or two that is positively haunting. “Just because you feel it/Doesn’t mean it’s there/There’s always a siren/Singing you to shipwreck/Steer away from those rocks,” sings Yorke in one of the album’s best lyrics. Great song by any standard.

“Punch-up at a Wedding” is arguably even better, because it truly seems to take the band into new

territory. Selway and bassist Colin Greenwood do wondrous things on this tune, which sees the band laying down a slyly funky groove, having an obviously great time in the process. Part of the fun is also hearing the band warp traditional song structures and redefine “arrangement.” “We Suck Young Blood” features funereal piano and probably the most lethargic handclaps ever recorded, in the service of a sickly tune about the entertainment industry’s continual manipulation of youth and beauty. “The Gloaming” is one of those weird, arty, electronic numbers that won’t win back any who lost interest after Amnesiac, even though Yorke’s vocal is achingly sincere. “Myxomatosis” features guitars buzzing like a giant insect, a syncopated rhythm track, and crazy lyrics that’ll make you keep reading them over and over. The line “No one likes a smart arse/But we all like stars” particularly made me grin.

It’s important to mention producer Nigel Godrich’s contributions to Radiohead’s sound; he’s effectively become the band’s sixth member.

Godrich seems intent on keeping the human element in the music no matter how much technical gear is employed; the mixes always have a natural warmth, and there are little sonic elements percolating below the surface which aren’t always noticeable on first listening.

Two superb tracks close the album: “Scatterbrain,” a sweetly poetic, melodic turn by Yorke and company which does hearken back to The Bends–era Radiohead (the descending guitar chords here are beautiful), and the hard-todescribe “Wolf at the Door,” which begins with a fairly elementary, Pink Floyd–ish chord progression and suddenly becomes rather interesting when Yorke starts speak-singing heaping mouthfuls of words, all having something to do with this crazy world we’ve made for ourselves.

Anyone who truly likes Radiohead will find Hail to the Thief a satisfying listen. The album is filled with fascinating textures, emotionally charged vocals by Mr. Yorke, and ambiguous lyrics that clearly allude to the nasty state of affairs in the world, but also reflect the fear and anxiety about sharing opinions about them openly anymore. It’s a record about looking inward when so much is happening outwardly, beyond our control. Yet ultimately, it’s not a downer record, because the band themselves seem so together.

—Kevin Renick

Radiohead will appear in concert at the UMB Bank Pavilion on August 24.

(Capitol)

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B A C K S TA G E PASS Mayday Rocket Bar, May 23 It was a night unlike any other at the Rocker Bar: the bar hipsters were nowhere to be found.

Instead, the Rocket Bar was filled with halfbaked local fratboys and their girlfriends. I knew then that it would be a strange and fantastic night. Mayday would soon take the stage.

Mayday is currently on a short U.S. tour.

They are supporting their new album, I Know Your Troubles Been Long. The album features a variety of instruments, such as guitar, vibraphone, strings, banjo, organ, and tympani. This creates an interesting sound for the band. It is rich and ornate, but also raw and exposed. Main vocalist Ted Stevens also adds a dynamic edge to the band’s sound. Stevens’ voice is harmonious and twangy; his singing has come a long way since Show Me How Robots Dance. Troubles is a great album and an even better live show.

Mayday loses none of their edge live. When they finally took the stage, Stevens stepped out from the darkness and began their set under the chain of lights that surrounds the stage. Under the dim glow, Mayday played straight from the heart, and no one cared. At that point, Mayday reminded me of a great Texas folk band playing to an audience that was more interested in the mechanical bull.

Fortunately, Mayday did not yield to the audience’s apathy; each song was more invigorating and awe-inspiring than the last. Mayday was winning some audience members over. By the third song, the daft morons had left, leaving behind one of the year’s most enthralling shows.

Mayday’s songs feature various recurring themes like solidarity, rebirth, and lost love.

Their new ballads, which were most of the set, were no different. “Virginia” was one of my favorite songs of the evening, a modern, folky version of Romeo and Juliet. It’s a song about two lovers and how everyone is against them.

Mayday’s intense sound, featuring a banjo and a fiddle (that’s a violin, for you educated folk), combined with Stevens’ blazing vocals, breathe new life into a classic story.

“Crawfish River” makes you feel like Huck Finn floating down the Mississippi River, basking in the sun. This feeling is not lost live, as you are transported to Huck’s raft, feeling the cool breeze through your hair. On “Running Away,” Stevens sings of rough times and indecisiveness and how most of us end up choosing the easy way out. This melody features a tuneful saw,

making it more boisterous and a little less serious than it is on the album.

After a string of broken-hearted songs, Mayday showed their lighter side with the ballad “Little Tremors,” which Stevens announced as being for the ladies. On the album, “Little Tremors” is seemingly about a lonesome cowboy, lost in the valley; with the previous proclamation, the song had a whole new erotic twist.

It began as one of the strangest nights I’ve had at the Rocket Bar; it ended with finding a new favorite band. During their short set, Mayday proved that they were more than a side project; they have the talent and experience to become one of the best folk/rock/indie/emo/ country bands out there. If they persevere, they should achieve legendary status. You’d better see them soon before they’re as famous as Wilco and you’re hearing them from the outside of the Pageant.

—Dawn O’Neall

Just Add Water Mississippi Nights, May 31 Here is what should have happened. After their first release, The Other Side of You, in 2001, Just Add Water should have been signed to a recording contract. That album is one of the tightest, most solid pop-rock releases in recent memory—and it was self-produced. Added to that is the showmanship of their live set: these guys play like major-stadium rock stars; there’s a confidence bordering on cockiness that makes you play along until you, too, are drawn into their web, singing along with all the prescribed audience-participation refrains.

If that had happened, by now they’d be on the summer festival circuit, touring in support of their major label debut (probably a repackaged Other Side, the songs reworked and tightened with maybe a couple of newer songs—but it’s a classic, so no one would mind) and getting critical acclaim nationwide.

Alas, that’s just a fairy tale, as, for whatever reason, JAW have been thus far overlooked by the majors. In reality, they’ve been banging their collective heads against the proverbial STL wall, enjoying relative success in their hometown while reinventing themselves in an attempt to get the labels’ attention. Problem is, they had it right the first time, and all the tweaks (vocalist Steve Waller’s new brunette locks with a blond shock of bangs, for example) have only served to prove what perfection they created the first time.

On the night of their CD release party—not just self-released but also self-titled this time— they took the stage with no fanfare while, ironically, overhead played Colony’s “Girls That Aren’t Mine” (you’ll remember Colony as yet another St. Louis band that tried to reinvent itself and ended up, well, disbanded). The normally showy Waller waved and quietly said hello as

the house music slowly faded. They kicked off the set with “Diane”; it’s on the new disc so it’s technically a “new” song, though it’s been in rotation in their live show for a couple of years.

The three axe men—Mike Steimel and new addition Clint Wilson (replacing Brian Nicoloff) on guitar, Dan Martin on bass—were each unplugged and all over the stage, while Waller kept his corded mic as a stage prop to wrap around himself.

The normally showy Waller was restrained, not his usual, attention-grabbing self. “We’re here tonight with a new CD for all of you because of the support you’ve given us,” he said almost humbly after “Life in Stereo.” A couple of songs later and there were flashes of his old self; as “God” began, he stood on the drum kit, arms out to his sides—not an unfamiliar pose for him, to be sure, but a bit ironic given the song’s subject.

The delivery of “Counting Clouds,” the first song on the new disc, was noteworthy, as Peter Lang hammered out a skillful stuttering drumbeat. The band concluded its set with “Eventually” from Other Side, which included a nice call-and-response at the end. A three-song encore later, and it was autograph-signing time.

Overall, it was a good show, and the crowd (many of whom were, it must be said, on the young side) seemed to enjoy themselves. I just can’t help wondering about the new songs, many of which are attempts at taking JAW in a rockier, bolder new direction. To this reviewer, the best songs of the night were those from the first disc—the ones with that signature Just Add Water sound. The newer stuff is all over the place, as if JAW can’t quite determine which direction they are headed.

—Laura Hamlett

The Foo Fighters The Pageant, June 1 Dealing with the packed-tighter-than-sardines environment of a sold-out Pageant show can be a bit of a challenge, to say the least. The “fun” begins with your seemingly endless search for a parking space when the Metro lot is full and continues through the crawl from the entrance to the long lines at the bathrooms and bars, finally ending with the arrival at your destination: two or three square feet of standing space.

Throughout this stressful process, it’s difficult to keep your mind from wondering if it’s all really worthwhile. However, when the band in question is the Foo Fighters, the answer is very obvious and requires little thought: definitely and absolutely yes.

After nearly a decade of playing to their consistently growing fan base, the Foo Fighters have developed a flawless performance style that is just about as tight as it can be. Although frontman Dave Grohl clearly is and always will be the band’s guiding light, the driving force behind

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The men who matter most: Dave Grohl and Taylor Hawkins. Photo by David Smith, courtesy www.foofighters.com. their cohesiveness is, without a doubt, drummer Taylor Hawkins, a truly amazing powerhouse talent who just might be the best drummer in any current modern rock band, period. It’s obvious that his three bandmates are well aware of this fact: during their set’s instrumental jams, they all turned toward Hawkins; from my front-row balcony seat, I could see the looks of awe and admiration on each of their faces, especially Grohl’s, with his famous ear-to-ear grin.

While playing tasty leads on his super-coollooking clear guitar, Grohl belted out strong vocals throughout the evening, never sounding the least bit strained. As to be expected from the reputation he has developed, he also entertained

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us with his silly, sarcastic sense of humor. On a more serious note, he spoke quite highly of the Pageant, naming it, along with Chicago’s Metro, as one of his favorite American venues to play.

The band’s 90-minute set was primarily a smorgasbord of what Grohl jokingly referred to as their “many mega-platinum hits,” including old favorites “My Hero,” “Monkeywrench,” and one of the most perfect power-pop songs of the late ’90s, “Learn to Fly.” Their two latest singles, the edgy “All My Life” and “Times Like These,” both sounded great live, although “Times Like These” would have sounded better in its recently released acoustic form. One of the surprise highlights of the show was the extremely tight delivery of “Stacked Actors,” a hard-hitting song that never became the huge hit it truly deserved to be. The several minute–long instrumental jam at its end practically blew the roof off the Pageant with its intensity and high-octane energy. A scorching version of the bouncy headbanger “This Is a Call” closed out the set. As an encore, the band returned to the stage with audience singalong versions of older gems, “Aurora” and “Everlong.”

What happened next seemed almost preplanned, although it most likely was not. An audience member tossed up a pack of Mentos candy onto the stage as the band was making their final

exit, causing Grohl to pick it up and turn toward the crowd, holding it next to his face. He then flashed us a quick version of his famous smile, just as he did in the “Big Me” video—the one which created an unbreakable and potentially lifelong connection between the Foo Fighters and Mentos. It was the perfect ending to what was a near-perfect concert, despite the unavoidable elements of a solidly packed house.

—Michele Ulsohn

Glossary Off Broadway, June 4 You’ve got to love a band that shows up and gives it everything they’ve got. A band that completely rocks out and gets into it so much that the audience has no choice but to go along with them, if for no other reason than the band simply would not care if the audience stayed behind. You’ve especially got to love a band that puts such energy and passion into their performance when that audience consists of two bartenders, the opening band, the reviewer, and his friend Tony.

On Wednesday, June 4, one of the best live shows I’ve seen since moving to St. Louis almost eight years ago went all but unnoticed when the sextet Glossary took the stage at Off Broadway.

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Backstage Pass Glossary is not from Nashville (I promised them I’d make this distinction); they make their home in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, just outside of Nashville. And their stop here was part of a string of dates in support of their latest release, How We Handle Our Midnights (Undertow), an

Three to See Here are just three of the great original St. Louis bands that play around town on a regular basis. Check them out as soon as you get a chance.

Glow—Glow is a group that really stands out on the local music scene. The threesome combines an early ’80s guitar/synthesizer sound with a bit of a jazz influence, creating a sound that is hard to resist. It’s easy to be drawn into their set, even when the musicians are hidden from the audience with the help of some fancy lights and a smoke machine. Singer Brooke Edwards stands out in front and has a tremendous vocal ability that draws the audience in as soon as she starts singing. If this band keeps performing, they will most likely receive many glowing reviews in the future.

The Spiders—A lot of people seem to be scared of spiders, and people who don’t like loud music will no doubt be scared of this local punk band. The Spiders are a great punk band with a threatening lead singer who uses his microphone stand as a prop and offers stage antics which seem to be modeled after a childhood temper tantrum. The first time I saw them perform, I kept waiting for the singer to attack the audience physically or to assault the crowd with spit, but he never did.

Pink Floyd may have written a famous song about going to school, but this band writes about eating the actual school supplies. I highly recommend seeing them.

The Skulls—I’m actually breaking my own rules by writing about this one, because the Skulls are not out playing originals; they’re a local Misfits tribute band. This group is so fun to go see that it’s impossible not to want to write about them. Devin Baker takes on the role of Glenn Danzig and gives such a great theatrical performance that it’s a perfect rendition. Plus, fans of Bonnie Boime’s bartending techniques at the HiPointe will no doubt enjoy seeing her play bass guitar onstage with this group; she often has her own cheering section. There’s never a shortage of punk rock kids showing up to these shows, shaking their fists and singing along as if they were at a punk rock summer camp.

—John Kujawski

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album I’d heard for the first time just two days before the show; in that short time, it grew on me greatly.

When they first took the stage to warm up, Glossary looked less like a band than a disparate group of strangers you might see waiting in line for tickets. But the first thunderous beat of J.D. Reager’s drumming snapped everyone quickly into a cohesive unit. Reager is a very hard drummer and, along with bassist Bingham Barnes, does a great job of holding down the rhythm section. Guitarists Todd Beene and Greg Jacks are a joy to watch, if only for the fact that each has a stage presence that is a polar opposite of the other. Beene is stoic and seemingly thoughtful in his playing, while Jacks flails about, his Telecaster sometimes on his hip and at other times by his shoestrings. Vocalist and percussionist Kelly Reed has a beautiful voice that lends itself well to singer/songwriter (and third guitarist) Joey Kneiser’s songs. Kneiser is an oddly imposing figure. He’s not that tall, is rather thin, and wears the kind of oversized baseball cap you’d find on the shelf of a truck stop. He looks younger than he probably is, which makes the wisdom in his songs and the authenticity with which he sings them that much more of an enigma.

In a brief conversation with Kneiser after the show, I was left with more questions than answers. He has Southern charm and graciousness to spare, but you also get the feeling he’s privy to something—some life lesson or bit of information—the rest of us are not. Keep an eye out for Glossary to come back through town.

And when they do, go check them out. They are a truly fun and enjoyable band to experience.

—Wade Paschall

he’s grown into quite an imposing force all his own on more than one level; his hulky silhouette dominated the Duck Room stage. After a shaky liftoff (“Uh, can we start?”), Bare’s band immediately caught everyone’s attention with a lively run-through of “Painting Her Fingernails,” a nod to his father’s extended collaborations with Shel Silverstein.

And then he unhesitatingly wheeled out his other money shot, a country-fried (but dead on) cover of the Smiths’ “What Difference Does It Make?” Listening to that perfect marriage of alt and country, it’s not hard to visualize little Bobby up in his bedroom, jamming to the Smiths to escape from all that goshdarn honky-tonk. If Nashville can produce a free-thinkin’ rocker like Bare the Younger, the world may not be headed for hell as quickly as we thought.

There was more of a gutsy, aggressive rock edge tonight than we’ve come to expect from Bare, almost like the chest-pounding of an alcoholic on his second or third beer. But you know how it happens: sometimes you’re in a room full of people and you know everybody’s sloshed— they all have their arms draped around one another, and they’re cheering a little too loudly at nothing in particular—and you just know the best thing you can do is order another round of Jaegermeister shots for everyone in your band, order them right from the stage, and everyone in attendance will raise their glasses and cheer, because you have just proven to the whole room that you are the man.

There was a lot of so-called twang in that gesture. I don’t care who your poppa is, it don’t get too much more country than that.

—Taylor Upchurch

Bobby Bare, Jr.

The Flaming Lips

Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room, June 5 Let’s be honest: Twangfest wasn’t for everyone—in fact, that’s probably part of its appeal.

But if you were still around at midnight on Twangfest Thursday to catch Bobby Bare, Jr., at Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room, then you probably fell under at least one of three heavily overlapping categories: the obsessive Twangheads, the official Twangfest sponsors, and the stinkin’ drunk.

One could turn that into a disparaging remark (“Duh, that’s probably what it takes to enjoy Twangfest”), but let’s stick with the upbeat: what better way to spend a weekend unable to walk a straight line or communicate verbally—I carried on a detailed conversation with the fellow next to me using only clipped staggering, shifting eyebrows, and ambiguous sign language—and all of this set to varying flavors of alt-country?

Bare, who until recently fronted the eponymous outfit Bare Jr., is the son of Nashville country legend Bobby Bare. This led to an interesting childhood which included being nominated for a Grammy at age five for a duet with his father. But

The Pageant, June 7 No matter what happens, the Flaming Lips can be sure that nobody will ever think of them as a one-hit wonder anymore. The well-documented madness of their live shows makes sure of that.

There’s nothing wrong with making sure your concerts are memorable, especially when you’re trying to associate your name with something other than a brief attempt at popularity back in the mid-’90s. A nice recovery, to say the least.

Of course, the Lips have substance to accompany the style. The question upon leaving one of their shows, however, is how much, exactly.

Audience members dress up as animals and dance on each side of the stage all night, stopping intermittently out of exhaustion. Every song is a blinding flash of confetti, audience spotlights, cryptic videos that may well have last been seen on R.E.M.’s Green world tour, and giant beach balls. (Lead singer Wayne Coyne’s heavily stickered acoustic guitar closely resembled a prop, too; his left hand didn’t appear to move once when he used it.) Perhaps as illustrative as

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anything else was the painstakingly prepared “Happy Birthday” sung to five audience members: Coyne dashed “blood” on his face as a way of reconnecting with birth...or something.

The Lips, who came out to a Pageant already packed for openers Aquaduct and the Starlight Mints (making it a tripleheader of Oklahoma bands), did the smart thing, relying overwhelmingly on material from Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots and The Soft Bulletin, their two most recent and most acclaimed albums. Even though the sole foray into earlier material was “She Don’t Use Jelly,” that raunchily titled hit from a decade ago that the Pageant crowd received enthusiastically, the accompanying step back in complexity made it clear how far they’ve come in recent years.

All glitz and pomp aside, why are the Lips suddenly on every posterboard and magazine cover, you ask? They never hurt for lack of trying; remember the promotional wave that accompanied “Jelly”’s unexpected success? Sometimes the answer comes via Occam’s Razor: they’ve simply emerged with two albums’ worth of fantastically written songs.

Just listen to “Do You Realize?”, a song that compensates for some relatively pedestrian (read: sappy) progressions with sweeping strings, an invigorating key change, and an eccentric rhythm that finds its stride just in time for the chorus.

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The lyrics present a nifty double entendre between a simple love song and the transient nature of life, with the song’s title suggesting you maybe think a little more about the latter.

Whatever it is, it inspires frenzied reactions from fans, or at least it did at the Pageant. Add the bright, flashing lights to songs of this caliber, and it gets people excited. Even Coyne had to stop and remark that there was more crowd energy that night than he could remember, stopping at one point to ask, “Isn’t Missouri like the biggest crystal meth–producing area?” Maybe that’s what it was.

—Taylor Upchurch

Dianogah Rocket Bar, June 14 I admit to myself that this night is Riddle of Steel’s night (their CD release party), so I’m grateful for what I get to see of Dianogah, my own focus tonight. The first three songs constitute a quick trace of their evolution, if not a sort of mini “greatest hits”—one good song from each of their three albums, in order. As is the case with most rock, the bass part is a good deal closer to the motor system and solid body of the music, whose bones are the drums.

Dianogah’s got a beauty of a skeleton wrapped in the massive, well-defined flesh of

two basses, which function as equipotent “lead” voices in place of any typical lead, while remaining meaty as hell and tenaciously bound to bone. This setup, especially with such tightly interlocking counterpoints, does not suffer as much at the hands of club acoustics as might the standard rock sound. I don’t even need earplugs to equalize the noise (sound quality very often is clearer with ear plugs, not just softer). And so these voices, intimately aware of each other, do their thick-bodied yet light and lively dance (sometimes I think this feller’s a bowlegged cowboy who’s had a little whiskey, oddly enough) around their central core or base: often a single droning note or two sweetly alternating to produce a warm glow in the author’s belly. And that’s not just the whiskey, I tell ya.

Dianogah drill into what I consider the core of the best emo music, but instead of simplifying it with a less dynamic rhythm or making it explicitly vocal, they unfold it into something rich and beautiful, something located near the pinnacle of “feel-good” music, something triumphant and free but gratefully cognizant also of pain and heartbreak, prerequisitely so. The only thing I miss tonight is the sweet highlights of keyboard, which add so much to the newer songs.

—Josh Sutterfield

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“naked goth girls, naked punk chicks, nude emo girls” his phrase is blazoned across the opening page of SuicideGirls.com. Normally one’s mind would envision images of graphic hardcore sex on a Web site full of pop-up windows and ads for bestiality and other lewd sites.

Why would one think this? The reason is that, in a day and age where sex is used to sell everything from shampoo to cigarettes, there is a public stigma against any form of “adult entertainment” found on the Web. Internet users are bombarded every day with pornographic spam in their mailboxes and accidental page clicks that send them to pages NetNanny would disapprove of.

This leads to the question: Is the SuicideGirls Web site pornographic?

“By my definition, no, but by most of society’s definition, yes. The thing is porn, to me, depicts actual sexual acts. SG for the most part is just naked pictures of girls done in a similar pinup style, you know, like Playboy. And to me, Playboy isn’t porn, either.” Suicide Edea In the literal sense, yes, it is. SuicideGirls uses the depiction of erotic behavior (as in pictures or writing) intended to cause sexual excitement, and by definition, this makes it a pornographic Web site. What most people don’t realize is that, beyond the surface, SG is so much more. What do you think makes SuicideGirls different from any other site on the Web containing adult content?

“Well, number one, you as a model have more say in what setting and how you want your pictures taken. It definitely captures different tastes and styles and personalities more so than any site I’ve seen so far. That, and I feel like it’s more about appreciating everyone’s individual beauty, rather than forcing sexy into the mold of huge tits, having a tan, and having blond hair. That, and members and models can interact with one another if they so choose.” Suicide Amelie

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

“SuicideGirls was created to give women a place to express their sexuality. It wasn’t created to fit into a preconceived mold.”

Missy Suicide, founder of SuicideGirls.com Follow me and all of the SuicideGirls as we take a trek inside the walls of SGHQ and find out what these naked goth, punk, and emo girls are really all about.

THE SITE Founded by Missy and Sean Suicide (no relation) as a way to bring appealing erotica to the masses, SG was sparked by the attractiveness of girls in Portland’s Pioneer Square. SuicideGirls’ “empowered erotica” shows the world that beauty is not just what is ogled over in the pages of Maxim or Playboy, but that it is all around you. As a member, besides being able to see all of the girls’ pictures, you have your own page on the site with a journal, profile, Webcam, “my pics” section, favorite girls, friends, etc.

At any time, you can contact any of the SuicideGirls or members, whether it be through the message boards, journals, picture sets, member groups, SG chat, or the contact feature found on profile pages.

THE GIRLS Remember that cute coffee shop waitress who bumped into you and smiled? You know, the one with the lip ring and tattoo. Or the girl you saw dancing at that rave? Black hair, dressed in leather, with the crazy hair. Or even the mohawked punker chick, the one who was bouncing up and down at the last hardcore show and whom you couldn’t keep your eyes off of. You can find them all on SuicideGirls. This is the site that claims to have kidnapped your girlfriend and given her a tattoo, to have the girl next door—if next door was CBGB’s. The girls (notice I don’t call them models) are unbelievably beautiful women of all shapes, sizes, ages, colors, hair styles, and interests who have to go through a lengthy application process in order to have their sets displayed. Why did you choose to pose for SuicideGirls?

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ON THE COVER “Because there is more than just nudity… I look at this more as an artistic site where beautiful women are not afraid of their sexuality and like to show it and share it with the world. They are able to write about their feelings in their journals and get feedback and everybody is nice and understanding on the site.” Suicide Elektra “This site is totally intoxicating—the whole feeling was just right with it—very comfortable.” Suicide Quinne “When I saw the site, I thought it was completely different from any ‘Goth’ porn I’d seen before. The girls on the site looked like me, and I loved the fact that they kept journals; I’d never seen that on a porn site before. I guess the reason I did it was because I wanted to be a part of something that might make some changes for the better in the adult industry, but also, I did it for the free membership!” Suicide Nic THE PICTURES The first thing to realize is that there are no males and/or male body parts in any of the picture sets found on SG, which is the major separator from your average “porn” site. All of the girls are allowed to choose the setting and theme for all of their pictures, opening the door for integrity, originality, and experimentation. Photo sets can range from the simple candid around-the-house type, to the exhibitionist, to the extreme. Erin’s “Moody” set shows her moping and napping under the sheets; the “Will Strip” set has Bryn showing off her stuff on the side of the road with a “Will Strip for Food” sign; and “Get Dark” displays the masochistic side of Katie with broken mirrors, boobs, and blood. Does this sound like your ordinary porn site?

“These girls are allowed to be who they are… We pick what we wear, where we shoot, how far we go. It’s all very liberating.” Suicide Opahl THE MESSAGE BOARD Probably the most talked-about feature, besides the naked girls, is the message board. Broken up into eight categories—The Girls, The Site, Hook-Up, Music, Current Events, Dirty Talk, Lifestyle, and SG Army—the message board is how the SG community began, with hundreds of posts every day covering an expanse of topics. The beauty of the SG message board is the fact that practically any topic can be discussed without shame or embarrassment, and you are almost guaranteed to have a like-minded individual respond. As long as you follow the simple community rules and keep your posts to a non-hate slant, then you will have a very fruitful SG message board experience.

quently or infrequently as they like and can be commented on by other members. This is how members maintain contact with one another on SG. “The members are my favorite part of SG. They are such supportive, honest, and sweet people.” Suicide Bryn HOOK-UP & MEMBER GROUPS Another way for members to meet is through the Hook-Up page. Here you can search for other members based on age, sex, keyword, or location, see who has Web cams active, and join SGChat. Member groups, which spawned from the Hook-Up page, are the best way for like-minded members to congregate on SG. Groups range from regional to special interest and from public to private and are the easiest way for members of the same city or interest to make plans, chat, share pictures, etc.

“My favorite part of SG is the friends (both in my city and out of it) who I’ve made, and hung out with, since I joined.” Suicide LuluMae THE SUICIDE BOYS The most popular member group by far is the Suicide Boys. SB, which grew out of a growing demand on the message board for naked goth, punk, and emo boys, is the beginnings of a brother site to SG. Male members can upload SGstyle photo sets of themselves and receive comments on their pictures just like the girls, except that the boys do not go through an application process, nor do they get compensated for their images. The boys do, however, have to follow the same rules as the SGs, which include starting clothed and ending up naked,

PROFILES & JOURNALS After someone reads your comments on the message board, he or she has the option to click on your screen name and view your profile. Member profiles are the basis for interpersonal communications on SG. Your profile page includes a personal synopsis, including age, location, body mods, interests, fantasies, etc., as well as a profile picture, your Web cam, a list of SG members that are your friends, your favorite girls, your favorite pictures, a personal photo album, and your journal.

Members have the option of keeping a journal which can be updated as fre-

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SUICIDE ELEKTRA

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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28 Days Later (Fox Searchlight,

NOW P L AY I N G The Hulk (Universal Pictures, Rated PG-13) It seems as if every moviegoer and film critic likes to try to identify a recent comic book–based movie every time a new comic book movie comes out, as if to justify the existence of the new comic book movie (i.e., “In the wake of the incredibly successful Spider-Man comes Daredevil,” or “Ever since X-Men proved successful, studio heads have been scrambling to pick up hot comic book material, and Spider-Man was first on their list,” or “Superman was really popular, so it was inevitable that there would be a Batman movie,” ad infinitum). What these movie buffs and critics usually fail to comment on is how successfully the comic book was translated to the screen, as they would have if the film had been adapted from a run-of-the-mill novel. It seems strange that no one can get over the comic book hump when everyone can get over the normal book hump.

Anyway, in the wake of X-Men 2 (or Ghost World, or Fritz the Cat, or…oh, forget it, this is too hard; people make movies from comic books all the time) comes Ang Lee’s The Hulk, and while it is not really a very good movie, it is the first film that actually feels like a filmed comic book. And that is not to say that it is somehow the truest to its source material, but that Lee worked his editors to a pulp making them visually create the reality of reading a comic book on the screen. This is accomplished by never letting a take last longer than a line of dialogue and by splitting the screen into two panels, or three panels, or two overlaying panels, or a screen within a screen, etc., as often as necessary to recreate the dizzying storytelling propulsion of reading a superhero comic book. The only thing missing is the big clump of exposition at the top

Jennifer Connelly and Eric Bana star in The Hulk, one of this summer’s biggest movies. Photo courtesy Universal Pictures. of the frame.

It’s actually kind of a shame that The Hulk isn’t any more interesting than it is, as, aside from the previously mentioned likeness to real comic books, it comes from great talent: director Lee has made a handful of really fantastic films (chief among which are Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and The Ice Storm); Eric Bana, who plays Bruce Banner (the unperturbed Hulk, for all of you out there who aren’t hardcore comic book wienies), proved himself well enough to last a lifetime in the Australian biopic Chopper; and Jennifer Connelly has been fantastic from the time she was a 16-year-old in Labyrinth to the time she was a 31-year-old and won an Oscar for A Beautiful Mind. And for the most part, Lee, Bana, and Connelly do their jobs well; the only real downfall in The Hulk is the fact that, when Bana Hulkifies, the film turns into a big mess of bad special effects and ludicrous situations, and this CGI-oriented misstep is enough to cost the entire movie its credibility.

With regard to the film world, one of two things will happen with the release of The Hulk: either the film will do well and thereby give reporters the world ’round to use the headline “Hulk Smash,” or it will fail (at least relatively) and quickly be forgotten as a reference point when a newer comic book adaptation comes into existence. My guess is that the latter will prove true.

—Pete Timmermann

Rated R) In our progress-oriented society, one of the more culturally accepted hippie concerns is to protest the testing of products on animals. And despite the fact that even most meat-eaters agree that testing products on animals is mean and evil, it is still a relatively common occurrence. As a response to the general lack of concern scientists show for critters, it is, in turn, relatively not uncommon for hippies to jailbreak their furry friends from the labs that hold them. This kind of behavior is generally romanticized in film, as most filmmakers, actors, etc., are political activist–types who try to work their humanitarian worries into their films. This context makes it all the more amusing that, in the nihilistic world of 28 Days Later, the action of freeing test monkeys from their cages may very well be enough to trigger the apocalypse.

Now hold on, treehuggers—Later makes no attempt to argue that freeing monkeys is bad. It is just that the product that the humans were testing on the monkeys at the start of the film is none other than good old-fashioned rage, and the otherwise unidentifiedly diseased monkeys have a nasty tendency to turn humans into bloodthirsty zombies within a matter of seconds.

The obvious connection to be drawn here is to the 1995 Wolfgang Peterson flick Outbreak, but there is a much more appropriate influence that the discerning cult movie addict will recognize: the 1992 Peter Jackson gorefest Dead-Alive, in which a rat monkey bites an old lady, thus turning her into a zombie and, in turn, transforming damn well near everyone else in town into zombies, as well. Dead-Alive is most well known for its employment of 300 liters of fake blood in its final showdown; if ever a movie would put that record to the test, it is 28 Days Later. The bloodthirsty zombies in Later transform normal humans into zombies by getting zombified blood into their eyes, mouth, or what-

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Intentionally or not, Blockbuster Video is rewriting cinema history. Not only has Blockbuster pledged not to carry any videos beyond an R rating, but it also bastardizes certain movies deemed too graphic; there’s the director’s cut, and then there’s the Blockbuster cut. And then there are the classic films that Blockbuster just doesn’t carry at all. This is the category that most of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s films fit, and this is, in large part, why no one under the age of 40 seems to know who he is.

Fassbinder was a notoriously impossible German director of the late ’60s, ’70s, and early ’80s who made a crapload of films in a very short time (he made in the neighborhood of 40 feature-length films over the course of 16 years), all of them very similar and very different at the same time. He loved to float from genre to genre (melodramas seemed to be his favorite, but he made a handful of gangster flicks, costume dramas, and even a Western), but the themes of his films were very often the same. The bulk of his movies are about loners who try to fit in, can’t, and then kill themselves at the end. As a result, the Fassbinder run of films are not the best bet for a feel-good Friday night with your friends.

It isn’t fair to completely blame Blockbuster for the Fassbinder-directed ignorance, as a great deal of his films have been out-and-out unavailable in any format for years. Luckily for us, though, Wellspring has just released 15 of his films on DVD, and Criterion will soon release 4 more. Luckier still, the Webster University Film Series is running a retrospective of his films, showing one film a night beginning at 8 p.m. every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from June 27 until July 27, with the exception of July 4. Furthermore, one’s knowledge of the relevance of Fassbinder and his work will be boosted immensely by the presence of local film critic and teacher Robert Hunt, who will introduce all of the films that show on Saturday nights.

Since his films are next to impossible to get ahold of—and there are just so goddamn many of them—I have not seen nearly all of the films that the retrospective encompasses, but there are a few specifically that I would like to highlight. What is probably my favorite Fassbinder film (of the 12 or so that I’ve seen) is his 1974 melodrama Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (playing July 12), which concerns a fiftyish, economically defunct woman who falls in love with a thirtyish, economically defunct Arab, much to the chagrin of everyone she knows. (Sadly, the other candidate for my favorite Fassbinder film, In a Year of 13 Moons, is not part of the retrospective.) Another winner is 1972’s The Merchant of Four Seasons (showing July 5), which exemplifies Fassbinder’s fascination with lonely main characters; it involves a street vendor who destroys his life for lack of anything better to do.

The most well-known Fassbinder film, also showing on July 26, is his 1979 pseudo-female empowerment picture, The Marriage of Maria Braun, but I don’t particularly care for it. The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (July 6) and Fox and his Friends (July 13) make for a field day for all of the queer

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theorists out there.

Fassbinder was an out homosexual who, at one point, married Ingrid Caven, one of his leading ladies (I know, I know, that doesn’t make sense), and he often liked to tackle the travails of being gay and confused in his films. (Caven once said of him, “Rainer was a homosexual who also needed women. It’s that simple, and that complex.”) His first feature film, a gangster picture called Love Is Colder Than Death (June 27), is also in the festival, as is the film that got him noticed in critical circles in the first place, 1969’s Katzelmacher (June 28). Also, following the June 29 screening of The American Soldier (one that I’ve never seen) are two pre–Love Is Colder Than Death shorts, The City Tramp and The Little Chaos, both neat little films; Chaos is particularly interesting because it has a happy ending, unlike pretty much every other Fassbinder film.

It’s a shame that someone who was capable of cranking out upwards of two great movies a year had to die when he was 37 years old (he committed suicide via drug overdose, which makes the themes in his films in relation to his life come full circle), as he would have had near enough movies to fill his own damned Blockbuster by the end of his life had he lived the customary span. Regardless, it is nice to see that not everyone has forgotten about him. Maybe the release of all of those DVDs and the short return of his films to theaters will be enough to fill in enough younger folk and keep his memory intact for another couple of decades.

Visit http://www.webster.edu/filmseries.html for a complete schedule of the films in the Fassbinder retrospective, as well as synopses, ticket prices, and directions.

—Pete Timmermann

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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Play by Play done. But then she muddies the picture a bit by singing something about being an “everyday sane psycho.” Liz baby, are ya getting’ all paradoxical on us here, or what?

Liz Phair is primarily an album of goodnatured, hook-oriented pop/rock (“Red Light Fever,” “Take a Look,” “Love/Hate,” and “Favorite”). In that last song, she compares a beau to her favorite underwear: “Take you for granted/But I’ll always know exactly where you are/Lost you once, you were hard to find/Got you back, you didn’t look like mine/Thought we were falling apart/But you make me feel so pretty/Like you did, like before…I’m slipping you on again tonight.” The song isn’t quite as sexy as it wants to be; it’s constructed like a Sheryl Crow tune, simply with a less subtle metaphor. It’s an okay song, I guess, not truly salacious or anything. For that, you’ll want to cue up Track 11, “H.W.C.,” which I won’t tempt the “delete” button of my editor by quoting here. Let’s just say that the jaunty way dizzy Ms. Lizzie sings this number leaves no doubt that the girl is gettin’ some these days, probably good and plenty.

Less eyebrow-raising winners here include “It’s Sweet,” which features pleasantly insistent percussion, an uncluttered arrangement, and one of Phair’s most relaxed, confident vocal performances; the cool, vaguely Beatles-ish “Firewalker”; and the very well-crafted “Friend of Mine,” in which Phair rises to the level of her peers and simply sings and plays her heart out.

You truly get the sense that her emotions are invested here and that she’s happy to be making this sometimes newly sophisticated music again.

And if she wants radio play, the indie rock–friendly “Rock Me” (about carrying on

from page 9

with a much younger guy) and the melodic vulnerability present in “Good Love Never Dies” could well do the trick; they’re both clean, commercial pop/rockers. “I can never relax/I’ve gotta keep it exciting/Make it attractive/Keep it alive/Keep you coming back/I’m already fighting to keep what I have,” Phair sings in the latter tune. She could be talking about a relationship or her music career; it works either way.

Phair is clearly trying her best to keep her fans “coming back” by offering a little of what they’ve come to expect, but also some more ageappropriate rock ’n’ roll craftsmanship. The problem is that she’s so intent on making a slick, commercial record here that she’s rubbed out the edge from some of her songs. Lapsing into blandness is not a good idea for a hot rocker chick, and it makes the bawdier moments a little embarrassing by contrast. The lo-fi aesthetic of her earlier work was more suited to some of this stuff, even though Phair has said recently she never liked the indie rock category she was put into. But evolving into an overproduced mainstream rocker doesn’t seem like the proper model of career smarts.

I still don’t think Phair is Grammy-bound anytime soon; her music is an acquired taste, and it’s missing a certain element of, oh, grace or something. But Liz Phair is more than just a transitional disc; it’s an already-made declaration of a new musical persona, with just a few traces of the old one left. And it’ll certainly provide Ms. Phair with a set of frisky new songs to kick it in concert with. But the indications are that this album is gonna sharply divide the fans, and there’s not that much about it that will bring newcomers aboard. The marketplace is saturated with rock chicks adhering to a formula of midtempo, cleanly produced pop rock, and that isn’t where Phair comes from. I’m all for artistic growth and all, but with a unique performer like Phair, this kind of stylistic shift (thematic, too, on most songs) is gonna seem jarring to her fans. I wouldn’t count her out yet, though: all the right ingredients are there. Time will tell if Liz Phair has the patience and determination to cook up something tasty again.

—Kevin Renick PRINCE PAUL: POLITICS OF THE BUSINESS (Razor and Tie) For anyone remotely down with Prince Paul, Politics of the Business is the hip-hop equivalent of the last 40 minutes of Spike Jonze’s Adaptation: an inside joke to those who understand what the artist is all about, an ironic critique of the conventions and clichés that dominate their particular medium. And like the last 40 minutes of Adaptation, it leaves a funny taste in your mouth that is neither especially good nor bad. Like aspirin or yesterday’s coffee.

“Since biting is no longer a crime I gave it a

try (a painful process needless to say).” This is how Paul summarizes the Politics project.

Truthfully—and ironically, I suppose—a few of the ersatz tracks are dope. “So What,” a clear Dr. Dre ripoff, is banging.

“Controversial Headlines A K A Champion Sound (Part I)” reeks of a Mobb Deep track, while “Controversial…(Part II)” finds Paul going the electro-synth-pop route, a lá the Neptunes.

Both are oddly satisfying. But the album’s crowning gem is “Chubb Rock Can You Please Pay Paul the $2200 You Owe Him (People, Places and Things),” on which the mimicry process comes full circle and Paul fulfills every maniacally spinning dog’s dream by successfully biting his own ass. Chubb Rock, Wordsworth, and MF Doom show up to rip apart a beat that Paul originally released in 1991 as “Pease Porridge Hot” on De La Soul Is Dead.

Paul is a funny guy. He thanks Fabio, Halle Berry, and Jeff Goldblum in his liner notes. But the overall message of Politics is serious: the music industry is a truly horrible place to go to work every day. Listen to Chuck D and Ice-T speak on the album’s title track, and you’ll begin to understand where Paul is coming from.

Politics is a tremendous “fuck you” to the business and has a few moments of brilliance. But in the end, wouldn’t we all rather hear Prince Paul just being Prince Paul?

—Kyle Beachy VIZA NOIR: NO RECORD (Flameshovel) The Chicago-based threesome Viza Noir recalls some of the premier elements of such classic bands as Wire and Mission of Burma while clanging through several raucous guitar melodies. Their first full-length album, No Record, begins furiously with the strong hooks of “Run for Mayor.” The title track follows and keeps the momentum going in the right direction. Sporting a powerful chorus and pounding drums from Joe Kaplan, it reveals considerable possibilities for the remainder of the record. The pace appears relentless and offers little respite from the quick, driving sounds.

Unfortunately, a complete listen shows Viza Noir covering too much similar ground and not offering enough diversity. The musicianship from bassist Mike O’Connell and guitarist Dan MacAdam is top-notch, but the songs fail to distinguish themselves enough to really provide a unique experience. Several instrumentals appear on the record, including the tight chords of “You’re Going to Break That Chair, Tom,” but everything just seems too familiar. The refreshing shifts in pace of “She’s a Machine” do recall continued on page 20

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C U LT U R E IN THE The Trials of EightCOMMUNITY Minute Dating

By John Kujawski Many dates last only eight minutes. Of course, bad dates can be stretched out to fit a three-hour time bracket, complete with awkward pauses, jokes and conversations that go nowhere, and excessive yawning. Most bad dates are doomed from the get-go. But now, in an effort to avoid such tragedies, a new service called 8minuteDating has been created.

I had the pleasure of trying 8minuteDating last month. To begin, I registered on its Web site, www.8minutedating.com. Keep in mind, the fee varies a bit depending on how far in advance you’re registering, but it costs at least $30 regardless of when you do it. When I arrived at the event, which was held at Blueberry Hill’s famous Duck Room, I was given a name tag with my first name and a code on it. I soon learned I would get eight 8-minute dates throughout the evening. After each date, I was to write down the woman’s name and code and if I wanted to see her again or not. If I decided I wanted another date with her, I was to type her code into the 8minuteDating home page with the hopes that she also typed my code into her listing. If this happens, you have a match.

Most of the Duck Room was in state of sheer panic that night; it was clear that fears of the opposite sex were driving people to drink, sweat, and run to the bathroom. People seemed too scared to try the food that was on display in

the back of the room and were instead taking in their calories by consuming beer. Some of the guys confessed to me that it was a scary experience, but to some degree, I experienced a feeling of relief. I grew up in St. Louis but had been living in Seattle for the last seven years; it was so nice to finally be back among St. Louis women.

They are, without a doubt, light years betterlooking and often nicer than women in Seattle; while I was there, it was hard for me to live in a town where the girls were not as pretty as the ones I grew up with. St. Louis women have qualities not always found throughout the country.

With all of this in mind, I didn’t think it would be hard to meet someone who might like to go to concerts or possibly take a ride on the Screamin’ Eagle with me, and I figured I was only eight minutes away from achieving my goal.

Boy, was I wrong. As soon as the eight-minute dates began, I got a real wake-up call. The women in this 25-to-35 age bracket were prepared to get down to business. If there was any mystery about the guys they were talking to, they planned on getting to the bottom of it in eight minutes. Questions included “Where would you go on an ideal date?” and “Tell me about your family life; are you an only child and are your parents still together?” If you aren’t in a secure job, don’t try this service. I met one gorgeous woman who is always “traveling on business” and likes to ski in the nicest resorts possible, and Hidden Valley certainly won’t do.

I then wondered if someone would come up with something really out of the ordinary. I remember asking a girl in a café once what her future plans were, and she said, “I’m doing a nude photo shoot for a band next month, but you won’t recognize me because I’ll be covered in blood.” The closest anything came to that, thankfully, was a girl who tried to ask me if Playback St. Louis was anything like Playboy.

When all was said and done, I went home to type some of the women’s codes into the computer to see if I had a match. I came up with nothing. My feeling is that if you’re at the stage where you are ready to get married right away, this is a great service. If not, 8minuteDating is a way to get yourself put on a barbeque pit and grilled like a pork steak on a hot summer day.

A few weeks later, I ran into one of the women I had dated for eight minutes. She was eating a cheese burrito at Del Taco. No beans, no meat, just cheese. I wondered what she was looking for in a man. Perhaps I should have asked.

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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Play by Play the power of Shellac at its best.

Viza Noir’s press material claims that they ignore the typical rules, but they still seem too tied down by a common form. Their live shows would definitely be kinetic, rocking affairs, but they haven’t totally found a way to translate the energy into the studio. A few more creative leaps would almost assuredly take this solid band to the next level.

—Dan Heaton STEVE WYNN & THE MIRACLE 3: STATIC TRANSMISSION (DBK Works) Last month, Steve Wynn & the Miracle 3 struck Twangfest 7 like a tsunami, and to extend that trope, if their sonic fury at St. Louis’s annual celebration of Americana didn’t re-create the 130foot waves generated by the 1883 eruption of the Indonesian island volcano of Krakatau, it wasn’t because they weren’t trying.

On July 8, music fans who missed that Duck Room blast (which likely had Blueberry Hill diners pogoing in their booths, involuntarily or otherwise) can savor Static Transmission, Wynn’s new release. It’s a disc worth savoring. Wynn’s work, in its wit and maturity, invites comparison to that of Bob Dylan, as on a funky hidden track that ends Static Transmission; other numbers, like the opening “What Comes After,” tonally echo John Lennon, and “Candy Machine,” with its deliciously nasty guitar, recalls Lou Reed, the musician to whom Wynn’s most often likened.

Beyond having written or co-written everything on the 11-track CD, Wynn plays guitar here, and abetting him are keyboardist Chris Cacavas and the trio that accompanied him at Twangfest: guitarist Jason Victor, bassist Dave DeCastro, and drummer Linda Pitmon (easily the most watchable percussionist in the known universe).

They’re a hot quintet indeed.

That said, Wynn and his band, despite emetic “classic rock” comparisons, make music as contemporary and cool as anything that isn’t (but should be) playing at the moment on local radio stations supposedly devoted to that bastard subgenre and its relatives. In that regard, listeners should crank the fifth (and longest) track here, “Amphetamine,” a thinking fan’s thunderous, goose flesh–inducing paean to the guitardriven power and glory of life at its wildest, cars at their fastest, and rock ’n’ roll at its finest.

Wynn reportedly wishes to return to the Lou; spin this disc and learn why those in the know hope he does.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach

Now Playing

from page 16

Brendan Gleeson, Cillian Murphy, and Naomie Harris are out to save the world in 28 Days Later.

Photo courtesy Fox Searchlight. ever other orifice is handy. This task is accomplished mainly by vomiting blood on anything and everything, but the occasional generic bloodbath will also do the trick. As a result, no movie has seen this much blood since the baby delivery scene in Freddy Got Fingered.

The film centers on a ragtag team of uncontaminated humans who band together to ward off the zombies, which greatly outnumber the non-zombies (the zombie-to-human ratio appears to be something like 100:1). There isn’t a particularly good way to kill the zombies, though, as there’s no silver bullet or wooden stake. Instead, the humans use whatever they have at their disposal, be it guns, assault rifles, great big swords, or baseball bats. The team of humans will occasionally go from Point A to Point B with some sort of goal, but for the most part, the film is all about killin’ zombies.

By the time of the climactic final battle, the plot finally reveals itself as having more than just zombie disposal on its mind. It is the mark of just how good the film is that it can hoodwink the viewer into thinking that it is about something that it is not. What’s more, while viewers are waiting for the message at the end of the film, they can enjoy the one-two punch of monkeys and zombies—surely a match made in heaven.

—Pete Timmermann

by Bosco (with illustration help from Jessica Gluckman)

www.mentalsewage.com

Elliot Goes

from page 18

It’s that time of year: Shakespeare in the Park! Henry and I were decked out...but where was Elliot?

Suddenly, we heard a familiar voice and spotted our brother onstage: “Out, damned spot. Out!”

Elliot must have left because he didn’t like our canine companion...whose name, by the way, was Time, not Spot.

july 2003

LOCAL SCENERY Colony) reports that the new album’s almost St. Louis expat Ted Bruner (C done. The new band’s called TED and features Matt Hickenbotham Colony) on drums and Steve Nowels (D Drew Johnson Band) on bass. The (C CD release is scheduled for August 23 at Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room, with Brandy Johnson opening. Bruner, who’s producing the disc himself in L.A., says, “I always wanted to make a Rubber Soul–type of album, and I think we did it. We wanted to capture the trueness of early R.E.M. recordings as opposed to a slick production. It’s a whole new level for us."

Radio Cherokee will be closed for a month or two for repairs and maintenance. They expect to reopen in late July/early August.

Fans of industrial/goth dance music wanting to find a good local group will enjoy Doomsday, the new CD by Son of William. All of the instruments, vocals, and programming were done by one man, Spence Harrison.

He does a great job of delivering fast, upbeat dance numbers like “Stratosfear” and the brilliant “Your Reality Is My Insanity,” complete with distorted vocals and guitar and plenty of catchy hooks.

A compilation CD has just been released by the Great Local Band Exchange (www.golocalrock.com) which features St. Louis bands Just Add Water and Somnia, along with ten other bands from around the country.

Interested listeners can go to the site, click on “Buy the comp CD,” and preview each song. The disc can be purchased for a mere $8, which includes shipping. To find out more, e-mail info@golocalrock.com.

The Honeyshakers drew a small but enthusiastic crowd to the Lamp Room May 31 for their CD release party. The trio, led by singer/songwriter Heidi Dean, performed nearly all of their self-titled debut, impressing on thoughtful compositions such as “Inside,” “Chicago,” and “If Wishes Were Horses.” But the highlights were covers: they did a marvelous version of the Talking Heads’ “Heaven,” a disarmingly childlike “Do Re Mi,” and a sweet take on Buddy Holly’s “Oh Boy.” The harmonies didn’t always gel, and the sound was a tad rough, but this spirited trio has plenty of charm…

Rich Williams of Autopilot Studio (and former Fly From August leader), debuted some of his new material at Mangia Italiano on June 11, opening for the fiery Missile Silo Suite. Backed by four musicians that included drummer Mark Gisi (playing with sensitivity throughout the set), bass player Chris Kelley, and guitarist Eric Burnley, Williams performed with real warmth and subtlety, treating the small crowd to some promising new tunes and strong vocals. If all goes well, the “Rich Williams Project”—or whatever it ends up being called—will be released sometime this fall. Look for a profile of Williams’ Autopilot Studio in our August issue…

Panic Attack has entered the final stages of mastering their debut fulllength CD at SGM Studios. The self-titled disc will feature ten songs; a summer CD release show is in the works. The addition of bass guitarist Greg Coan gives a new musical depth and level of energy to the live Panic show.

Over 2,500 people attended Tied 2 Art, held at the City Museum over Father’s Day, including the producers of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Photo by Husband has disbanded, but singer Cricket is working on a new, as yet unnamed project that she says sounds a bit like Jefferson Airplane. So long as she’s singing in the band, it’s worth the trip to a club to see her perform.

The Dead Celebrities/Trip Daddys split CD should be out by the middle of August and features five tracks from each group.

TripStar have finished their second CD, Guardian Soap, and will be scheduling a release/listening party by the end of summer under bittersweet circumstances. After five years of collaboration, founding members Bryan Hoskins and Donny Besancenez have decided to part ways. In August,

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Besancenez will be performing with TED (fronted by Ted Bruner of Colony) and will be recording/producing his own solo material and originals by Derek Bayer. Look for appearances by TripStar drummer Bill Wheeler on these recordings. Singer/guitarist Hoskins is confirming shows throughout the St. Louis area to promote his new project, the Bleeding Hearts. Bassist Jeff Church is busy writing material for the project and has also formed a Kevin Michaels), Steve Bunk (V Vargas Swing), new band with Kevin Barry (K Brandy Johnson Band). and Josh Kohn (B On Wednesday, July 16, Raven Moon will be playing at the Missouri Botanical Garden as part of the Whitaker Music Festival. This is the first time a bluegrass band has ever performed at this event. Pack a picnic dinner and a blanket for an evening of music under the stars.

Did you happen to catch My 2 Planets’ recent appearance on Fox 2 News in the Morning? Very nice Playback St. Louis T-shirt frontman Eric Wulff was wearing! In other news, M2P and guitarist Joe Weir have amicably parted ways. Jeff Faulkner of Shine is filling the guitar and backing vocal position this summer while they look for a permanent replacement.

So Entertainment St. Louis has kicked off a summer of free concerts downtown on the Budweiser True Music stage. Sounds like a great idea...but where were the great St. Louis bands in the lineup? According to the press release, the first two slots are supposed to feature a “local cover band or up and coming national artist” followed by an “up and coming local performer or national artist.” What about Just Add Water, guys?

They’re our town’s Budweiser True Music band! Ah, well...maybe next time we’ll have some actual St. Louis entertainment.

Brooke Edwards has been cast in a supporting role in David Anspaugh’s feature film, The Game of Their Lives (currently shooting here in St. Louis).

Edwards has appeared in local theatre and short films, and also sings lead vocals for the band Glow.

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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Backstage Pass

CURMUDGEON

By Rob Levy

MOZ

So the summer is here, and we have had an amazing run of great live shows. These include heavyweights Sonic Youth and the Flaming Lips.

With Radiohead’s gig here next month, the STL is indeed getting some interesting shows again.

Speaking of the Lips, they are teaming up with the Chemical Brothers for a new track entitled “The Golden Path.” Wayne Coyne will sing on the track, and the rest of the Lips will provide “atmospherics” throughout the album. Look for the Lips movie Christmas on Mars this December.

The NYC music explosion continues with Fever. Their EP Pink on Pink, a five-song tier of audio grittiness and glam rock noiseness, is very good. Check out the cover of “The Glamorous Life,” and feast on the other four tracks found on this amazing debut. Along with Radio 4, they are the next big NYC band to approach Strokesesque fame!

Madness vocalist and pub owner Suggs recently won an Oliver Award in the U.K. for his musical, Our House, which is semi-autobiographical and based around the song of the same name.

Jawbreaker was an amazing punk band whose dissolution begat Jets to Brazil and helped launch a new wave of audio craziness.

Everyone’s Fault, a tribute CD to Jawbreaker, is coming out in mid-July. It features Face to Face, Sparta, the Riddlin Kids, and more.

Morrissey has signed on to Sanctuary Records, the label where all the old rockers and popsters end up.

The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra brings the noise on its opening weekend, September 12 and 13. That’s when they perform the widely popular Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. Carmina Burana is a big, clunky, and loud piece with crescendos and pitfalls of percussion. It also is one of the most easily accessible classical pieces around.

Sir George Martin has written another book.

This one is entitled Playback and features over 300 pages of inside info and memorabilia related to the Beatles.

Is it just me, or does the thought of Mariah Carey performing here just give you the hives?

I have had entirely too much of Jewel. She is absolutely terrible. She’s undergone an image change in an attempt to shill more of her terrible

music. I thought she was a boring tart as a wordy Alaskan folksinger; now she is just an annoying commodity as a pop star.

Four Months of Darkness is the title of the brilliant new EP from Saxon Shore. It is in the same vein as Godspeed You! Black Emperor or a dreary Bardo Pond. The EP features over 20 minutes of dark, brooding melodies stretched to the boiling point of fragility and tumult. It is great.

David Bowie will begin a 17-country jaunt this summer to coincide with the release of his new album, Reality. It is Bowie’s longest tour in almost ten years.

Speaking of codgers, the Sex Pistols will again be looking for gobs of cash with a summer reunion tour.

Kraftwerk is prepping And even more codgers...K a new album in Germany. The album will be themed with their previous Tour de France and will feature reworkings of the track. Strangely enough, Tour de France 03 will coincide with the hundredth anniversary of the biking event.

British Sea Power is finally releasing its debut album, The Decline BRMC of British Sea Power.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is prepping the release of its second album, Take Them On, on Your Own, with a brief North American tour in July.

Lots of people are worried about global warming or weapons of mass destruction. However, while all of this is going on, the world turned a blind eye to the greatest misdeed of our time...the Dexy’s Midnight Runners reunion.

The Muny scares and bewilders me. It mystifies me how much people love baking in STL humidity and watching weird musicals.

Probot is the new metalish side project of Dave Grohl. Along for the ride is Matt Sweeney of Zwan. For vocal duties, Grohl has recruited various members of the loud metal community, as well as Lemmy from Motorhead.

Although Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips have made a brilliant album together, L’Aventura, they insist that Luna has not called it a day. L’Aventura is a remarkably cool breeze of a record with solid lyrics and lush melodies.

It looks like a new Whiskeytown record is in the works, though they probably won’t get around to making it until later this year.

Rancid will be touring this fall.

Vulnerable is the new album by Tricky. It features spooky covers of “Love Cats” by the Cure and “Dear God” by XTC. Finally, it would be cool if the St. Louis Walk of Fame folks gave a star to native St. Louisan Classy” Freddie Blassie. Blassie, who passed on “C last month, was not only a wrestling icon, but also an American pop culture phenomenon.

from page 13

Bela Fleck and the Flecktones The Pageant, June 14 The wonder and amazement at seeing Bela Fleck and the Flecktones for the first time is nearly surpassed by the disappointment at seeing them each subsequent time. The well-travelled foursome (Fleck on banjo, Jeff Coffin on winds, Victor Wooten on bass, and Future Man on his description-defying hand-held drum machine) run out a great show every night...and then turn around and run out exactly the same show the next night.

This is probably why, despite the success they’ve had touring, you don’t see many Flecktones reviews out there. They’ve achieved virtuosity and have nothing left to do but roam around, showing it off again and again. They always come onstage one at a time, already holding and playing their instruments (starting with Wooten and ending with Fleck). Coffin’s introduction always includes the statement “He likes to wear his hair upside down.” We always get either “Stomping Grounds” or “The Sinister Minister” (tonight we got both).

And of course, Victor Wooten always breaks out a big whoopin’ stick of a bass solo, and when he slings the bass around his back and continues without missing a beat, it inevitably brings the house down. In fact, “inevitable” could be used to describe many of the sideshows in the Fleck Circus: Future Man’s Third World–themed drum solo, Coffin blowing on two horns at the same time, and the closing “Flight of the Cosmic Hippo,” complete with hippo dance with divided singing parts for men and women in the audience (unfailingly: “Ladies stop laughing, it’s your turn.”)

This is all needlessly picky, of course. The Flecktones are individually and collectively skilled to the point of bringing fans of different generations and genres together (Fleck has been Grammy-nominated in 12 categories). They don’t appear to be remotely challenged with even their complex material, soloing fluidly over rapid chord changes of seemingly every style.

Instead, they huddle together on the side and strut in unison with a smirk while someone else solos. One gets the impression that their undying good humor is what keeps them afloat night after night, and it makes them infinitely more appealing to the crowd, too.

Besides, surely nobody ever dreads the Fleck solo performance that serves as closure for the evening. It’s the one thing that’s been consistently unpredictable in the four Fleck shows I’ve seen. This one was a departure from his generally classically styled fare, instead teasing “Pop Goes the Weasel,” “All You Need Is Love,” and “Imagine” at different points. He had to fend off an audience unable to contain its glee at the Beatles references, wagging his finger repeatedly as if to say, “Wait, there’s more.” continued on page 27

july 2003

I Think I’ve Said Too Much: College Radio Confessions

By Rev. Mike Tomko

Episode 3: “The Art of the Demo: Part One” If last month’s article didn’t scare you off from the recording industry altogether, then it is time for you and your band to embark on the next step: recording a demo. Because recording a demo can be expensive, time-consuming, and tricky, you have to be ready and aware of all of the intricate details related to this process.

How do I pick the songs for my demo?

It is important to think of making a demo differently than you would think of making a record. The goal of your demo is to capture new listeners and have a very good résumé to send to venues, radio stations, and record companies; this is why you should pick your best three to five songs and no more. Choosing a mix of songs with different tempos or moods will show off your band’s diversity and depth; having a concise song list will give you the time and patience to record for quality, not quantity. “The demo has to show your capabilities and potential, so aim to produce something that will appeal to your potential booker/agent, manager, publishing or record company to show off your talents and gain their interest,” says Tracey Howard-Baker of Vocalist.Org.

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Where and with whom do I record?

Once you have a song list in place, it is time to find a studio and put the songs on tape. If you are recording a demo in hopes of getting it on the radio, then going to your brother’s friend’s neighbor’s cousin’s basement “studio” will probably not be a wise decision. While there are many very qualified producers and engineers working out of home project studios all over the country, the majority do not pan out as hoped.

These types of opportunities, however, are often economical and sufficient for reference recordings and demos to get gigs. Also, do not allow yourself to fall into the trap of analog versus digital. There is an urban legend that a band can only be regarded as “indie” if they record to analog tape with vintage everything, which is simply not true. Many bands today have crossed into the digital domain without sacrificing their musical integrity or indie status.

It is important, though, to work with a competent engineer who will use the gear to its fullest potential and give your band the recording they deserve. I don’t mean to imply that you have to use all of the gear available to you, because the “less is more” principle definitely applies here, but I am saying that you can make a great demo with a cheap mic and a four-track, as long as you know your gear and you are creative with it. Famous Seattle-based producer Jack Endino parodies this myth best in his article, “How to Overproduce a Rock Record,” by saying, “Make sure you rent lots of expensive mics and expensive compressors and expensive preamps so you can convince yourself and everyone else how good it’s sounding.”

The idea is to find a place where you and your band will feel comfortable recording, because you will have to spend a lot of time there. Also,

COLLEGE RADIO CONFESSIONS pick someone to engineer and produce your demo who will make the right decisions for your music rather than do what every other band is doing. When you break it down, the only thing that can dictate what a song needs is the song itself. If a song needs the tape hiss and saturation, then record to analog tape; if it needs lots of complex edits and overdubs, then try digital.

Keep in mind, though, that if your songs and performance are not up to par, then no one will care how much production there was in your demo; it will have been turned off well before they got to that part. Being a music director, I receive too many records by artists that fall under either of the overproduced-and-underdeveloped or sounds-like-crap-but-I-think-thatwas-a-good-song categories. If the music isn’t good but it sounds great, it still won’t hit the air at my station, nor will it play if the songs rock but the recording quality is not up to basic broadcast standards.

Another thing to remember when entering the studio is that the recording process isn’t as easy as playing your songs in rehearsal. “A studio makes most musicians self-conscious,” says Robert Poss, avid recordist and guitar player for Band of Susans. “The easiest parts and riffs suddenly seem difficult; the grooves that were so effortlessly attained in rehearsal seem stiff and stilted. The problem is that in the studio, most people think too much and concentrate too hard. And there’s time pressure, money pressure, and a sense that the work is going to be permanent—a statement of sorts.”

Tune in next month for Episode 4: “The Art of the Demo: Part Two.”

Mike Tomko is the acting program and music director for KGLX, the Galaxy, the radio station of Webster University, www.kglx.org. louie_zou@yahoo.com.

ON THE WEB THIS MONTH Web-only features, events calendar, giveaways, and MORE!

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PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

TA K E F I V E Five Quick Questions With Alanna Nash

By Bryan A. Hollerbach Writer Alanna Nash should need no introduction to readers of such popular periodicals as Entertainment Weekly, for which she covers country music. The Louisville native has also authored such volumes as Dolly: The Biography (a look at the peerless Ms. Parton) and Behind Closed Doors (a collection of country interviews), both recently reviewed in these pages.

On July 15, Simon & Schuster will publish her latest book, The Colonel, which analyzes Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis Presley’s controversial manager.

By e-mail last month, Nash discussed that bio (on which further information appears at www.colonelparker.com) and related topics: 1. What inspired you to write this biography of Colonel Tom Parker?

I have been curious about him since I was a small child, ever since I saw a picture of him handing out Elvis pictures to kids who looked remarkably like me. Then in the ’90s, I had three meetings with him in Las Vegas, trying to get him to comment for a previous book I did, Elvis Aaron Presley: Revelations From the Memphis Mafia, a collaboration with three members of Elvis’s entourage. In each of those meetings, I looked across the lunch table at him and wondered, “Just who are you? Who are you really?” When he died in ’97, I thought, “Now we’ll never know.” Then my agent convinced me to try to answer that question myself.

2. In brief—at the risk of using an almost ludicrous phrase—what did your six years of work on the biography entail?

I was on a quest to answer two larger questions: One, why did he make certain decisions in guiding Elvis’s career that didn’t really make a lot of sense, and two, why did he leave his native Holland without telling his family goodbye, and then never become a U.S. citizen? The ripple effect of that had enormous impact on the life and career of his most famous client.

To answer those questions, I traveled to Holland, interviewed his family, met more of his family and friends here in the States, and was able to uncover several previously unseen documents that led me to believe that he got into some very big trouble in the Netherlands—trouble that made him either rewrite or attempt to obscure his past. The thing is, Elvis Presley paid almost as big a price as he did for whatever happened over there.

3. What distinguishes your book from earlier bios of Parker, like James L. Dickerson’s Colonel Tom Parker, Sean O’Neal’s My Boy Elvis, and Dirk Vellenga and Mick Farren’s Elvis and the Colonel?

I cannot pay enough homage to the Vellenga/Farren book. Both authors were helpful to me personally, especially Mick Farren, who is both a genius and a sweetheart. Any serious research into the life of Tom Parker has to start with their work. I just took Vellenga’s findings deeper. To my knowledge, Sean O’Neal didn’t do a lot of primary research, as he was under an extremely tight deadline to get his book out as soon as he could after Parker died; Jim Dickerson focused on different things than I did. I was searching for cause and effect, and attempting to construct a psychological profile of a very complex man.

4. Of all the bios of Elvis Presley, the man who made Parker famous and vice versa, which do you regard as the best—and why?

You can’t discredit the Peter Guralnick volumes [Last Train to Memphis and Careless Love] for thoroughness about Elvis, if not Parker, but there are other books which are essential to understanding the story: Elaine Dundy’s Elvis and Gladys, for one, Bill Burk’s numerous books [Early Elvis: The Sun Years, among many others] for “you are there” details, and more recently, Bobbie Ann Mason’s abbreviated look at Elvis as deep-dish Southerner [Elvis Presley].

5. If we lived in a time less supersaturated by media coverage, which contemporary musician or musicians could you see matching the impact of Elvis?

You’d have to name the Beatles for cultural significance and change, but after that, perhaps only Bruce Springsteen comes close. If we’re speaking of white artists, that is, in mainstream America. Black culture has its own super icons, and to their own audiences, they have been just as powerful as Elvis. In his heyday, of course, Presley bridged those two camps as never before. We need him back!

july 2003 MARGARET ATWOOD: ORYX AND CRAKE (Nan A. Talese/ Doubleday) It’s a lonely planet for Snowman, the tragiccomic hero of Margaret Atwood’s imaginative, playfully grim new novel, Oryx and Crake. Draped in a foul bedsheet, he wakes in a tree near an ocean, voices in his head, struggling to face another day as the only man alive. “He doesn’t know which is worse,” Atwood writes, “a past he can’t regain or a present that will destroy him if he looks at it too clearly.”

Clarity’s in short supply for Snowman (as it is, in the book’s early sections, for the reader). He’s reeling from a serious one-two punch: first, a recent global plague has wiped the world pretty much clean; second, as he’s the world’s remaining human (he was in an air-locked bubble-dome while the plague played out), he’s become the reluctant leader for the genetically made Crakers, a rosy-minded troop of beings he escorted from the bubble-dome to an oceanside village, after the world SARS’d out. A self-deprecating wallower now in the role of apostle, Snowman’s forced to explain to these Crakers life’s smaller matters, like existence and creation. (“Well, I owe them,” Snowman thinks to himself, after a Craker requests a particularly important bit of knowledge. “God of Bullshit, fail me not.”)

So how did Snowman get here, manning this post-apocalyptic fairyland? Atwood spends the majority of the novel answering this question, tracking back for long sections of back-story, which are then met with shorter scenes of the present. It’s a disorientating pace for the reader, but I’ll give Atwood the benefit of the doubt that it’s intentional—I suppose she wants us to feel how Snowman feels.

What we learn is that Snowman was once just a boy named Jimmy, heading through high school and college and on to an underwhelming job churning out promotional copy for AnooYoo, a shady life-enhancement corporation. Since his early years, Jimmy had been under the spell of the bright but cold-minded Crake—best buds, they hung out and played games like the prophetically titled “Extinctathon”—as well as Oryx, a delicate, angelic girl the two friends spotted trapped on screen in a smut site, whippedcream face, flowers in her hair, and all-knowing eyes that penetrated Jimmy to the core.

Slumped in this depressing job at AnooYoo, Jimmy jumps at an offer to join the book’s title characters at a top-secret, cutting-edge compound called Paradice. Two Mr. Burns–level schemes are at work: one, to develop the

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BlyssPluss Pill, which would eliminate in those who took it the “external causes of death” (“misplaced sexual energy” being a biggie); and two, to develop the Crakers, a population of “spliced geniuses” with minds not burdened by ideas of race, territory, jealousy, anxiety, or mortality. (Crake argues that the last of these is not the act of dying, but the “foreknowledge” of dying; take that away, and you’ve got immortality. Thus, the Crakers have been programmed to drop dead at age 30.) Neither of these schemes sits well with Jimmy, but with Oryx and Crake as the irresistible recruiters, into Paradice he goes.

And as you may imagine from this review’s beginning, it doesn’t go well.

An author of more than 30 books, Atwood pulls this complex tale together with skill. While its chronological shifts were fatiguing early on, the book gels at a certain point, particularly when, in the past, Jimmy enters Paradice and, in the present, Snowman leaves the beach to tour the ruined city he used to call home. And while Photo by Lenore Atwood

PAGE

BY PA G E Atwood comes off as indulgent and cutesy in her continual naming of the futuristic companies and Web sites, she ultimately succeeds on two more significant levels. First, because of the salty playfulness of the book’s language—particularly Snowman’s “God of Bullshit, fail me not”–style of coping—we often forget that he’s a character miserable, lonely, and starving; and when glimpses of this sorrow surface—Snowman limping toward the bubble-dome; his fleeting hope upon finding a windup radio—we feel his pain all the more deeply. Second, the author’s at times tiresome surface treatment of the book’s futuristic elements is absolved by her continuous but subtle handling of one of the oldest elements of all—fire—providing a timeless gravitational plot point for this speculative fiction.

Early in the book—consulting the “burning scrapbook in his head”—Snowman recalls at length his first memory: a bonfire ravaging piles of animals. Later, revisiting the burned-out buildings that surround Paradice, he recalls watching live video of the global plague’s aftermath: “the riots in the cities…the explosions as electrical systems failed…the fires no one came to extinguish.” And finally, in the book’s last pages, when Snowman has finished the tour of the city’s remains and circled back to the oceanside village, he spies this ageless element again. He sees smoke. Then fire. And with reason, we wonder: Is he really the last man alive?

—Stephen Schenkenberg

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

26

YOU ARE HERE Just Trying to Make a Living

By Rudy Zapf This is the fourth and final article about living and working for the arts in the St. Louis area.

This piece looks at three individuals who are trying to live and work as artists in the area.

Shawntá Ray There’s an anemone of jute and steel sitting in Shawntá Ray’s exhibition space. This site is also, not coincidentally, the lower level of the house she shares with her husband, a recording artist/producer/technician. That one space is so multifunctional tells of the resourcefulness found so often in young aspiring artists. With a series of wall pieces and larger freestanding vessels, the space has become a showcase for vibrant new sculptures. Without the luxury of gallery representation, Ray has produced a space that effectively presents her work.

She also makes good use of the compact forge that’s tucked in behind her house. Necessity being the mother of invention, Ray manages to continue her explorations of material and shapes, making do without extensive university facilities. A small series ranged neatly along the wall are vertical punctuations, exercises intended to stretch and flex a theme, testing its strength. When asked what motivates her larger, more organic forms, she describes them as being related to personality traits of others who have affected her life. The Black Nodes series, with its somber colors and elongated steel pendants, was a response to her grandmother’s cancer.

The fundamental issue of sustaining creativity while earning a living is the conundrum that most artists face. A shortage of hours in each day is the usual complaint. As Ray tells it, the energy issue is more compelling than the time issue.

After returning home from her full-time day job, she needs an impetus in order to begin sculpting.

Her husband helps by firing up the forge before she arrives. Just knowing it’s on and waiting is all the inducement she needs to begin her real work.

Because Ray has the enviable drive of a twentysomething, a cup of coffee at 4 p.m. will hold her for a good full night of work. Youth has its advantages—not least the ability to stay up and work at least three nights a week, plus weekends.

Asked where she would like to be in ten years, she responds unflinchingly that her hope is to be making art full-time. “I really love what I’m work-

ing on right now. There are a hundred ideas that I’ve yet to articulate.” Ray admits that she’ll have to find ways to merge sculpture with “functional art,” such as furniture and household pieces, to justify the costs of supplies and time.

Steve Da Lay “I was crazy back then.”

In the mid-’80s, Steve Da Lay moved his wife and two young boys to KC to attend the Kansas City Art Institute. Returning to St. Louis shortly after receiving a B.F.A., he has since worked as graphic designer, print supervisor, and house painter in order to feed his addiction. The things that some people will do, just so they can buy enough art materials for the next project. How difficult is it to be an artist in St. Louis?

“Terrible!” It’s not merely the lack of available gallery space or public exposure. Da Lay has little patience for artists and the public who succumb to the lowest common denominator in art.

If it doesn’t make the viewer ask questions, then what’s the point? Da Lay holds up Thomas Kincaid as a guilty example of LCD. “He grinds this stuff out... In fact, others paint it for him, and people can’t get enough. He’s the Peter Paul Ruebens of the twenty-first century!”

Meanwhile, his current series of woodcuts has kept Da Lay busy for the past three years, though he confesses not consistently. “The thing is—I’m in a dry period. That’s when I have time to actually work on the prints. The fertile periods are when I’m in my sketchbook.” The series is influenced by the Ten Bulls. “It’s a Zen thing. The bulls are a vehicle, a metaphor for the self. They refer to the ten steps to enlightenment.” Pointing to a man in a top hat who carries a shovel, Da Lay explains, “He is digging for the truth.” When completed, there will be four scrolls, each 60 feet long. One of the sets will be bound and buried in the grove of bamboo covering his backyard.

Da Lay admits to a professional flaw that most artists possess. For two years, he has done nothing to get his work into the public arena. After his workday, his remaining energies are spent just trying to survive as an artist. “The responsibility is on me.”

Andy VanDerTuin “It’s tough trying to balance the practical with the nonpractical. And art is not very practical.” Andy VanDerTuin tersely sums up the polarity of trying to maintain his status as an artist while living in St. Louis. His problem is shared by all artists who work in a conservative town. “The people of St. Louis are uncomfortable with nonrepresentational art.”

In his family, art was not considered a career option. So in the ’60s, VanDerTuin instead got a B.A. in design from SIU. After back-to-back stints as a volunteer for the Peace Corps and a draftee to Vietnam, he used his VA benefits to

attend the Rhode Island School of Design, in the newly formed program of Industrial Design.

A sardonic smile escapes him as he recalls the backdoor way in which he found himself an artist. Between raising kids and working as exhibit designer or curator at various museums, there was little thought for artistic fulfillment.

VanDerTuin lays the blame on Dutch roots that put security before passion. Once VanDerTuin achieved professional security, the spark came from his own son, who grew up wanting to be an artist. During his sabbatical from the Community School in 1990, he concentrated solely on sculpture for nine months.

Practicality shapes the scale of his work.

Predominantly working in wood, he focuses on modular components—pieces that can be taken apart, are functional, and are easily packed. His popular garden sculptures started out as indoor coat racks. A sleek flock of birds is perched on a sculpture that serves as a candelabra. The architectural containers he builds with finely grained woods are polished to highlight their natural beauty. Recently, six of his works were included in a soon-to-be-published art book titled 600 Boxes.

Much of his work he sells at art shows, the main one each year being the “Best of Missouri” show at the Missouri Botanical Garden. Years of working in industrial design influences not just what he creates, but how he thinks about his works. He approaches an idea quickly, trying to find the most efficient process to reach the point of completion. Yet once he hits upon a successful and popular design, he doesn’t have the patience to repeat it indefinitely. VanDerTuin is aware that it is the continual flow of new ideas that keeps him going and keeps him from reaping the monetary benefits of mass-produced designs.

Considering the landscape for artists in the area, VanDerTuin is blunt. “Sculpture doesn’t sell. Everybody’s got walls. Everybody wants artwork they can hang.” Even artists who work in 2D compositions such as painting or printmaking have a rough time.

“St. Louisans, for the most part, want things that are easily defined and aesthetically pleasing. This is not the sort of town where artwork sells. Products sell.”

Sculpture by Shawntá Ray

july 2003

27

ADVICE: A Beginner’s Guide to Copyrighting Music

By Daniel K. Mannion Welcome to the debut advice column by Dan Mannion! Got a question about entertainment law you’d like Dan to answer? Send it to us at contact@playbackstl.com or to Playback St. Louis/ Legal, P.O. Box 6768, St. Louis, Missouri 631449998.

Q: What’s involved in copyrighting a song?

Please also discuss fees.

—Kevin B., St. Louis Background Article 1, Section 8 of the United States Constitution provides, “The Congress shall have power…to promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries.” Pursuant to this grant of power, Congress enacted the Copyright Act, which is generally designed to balance the rights of authors to protect their works with the rights of those who may use them.

What May Be Copyrighted There are two requirements for a “sound

recording” or “musical work” (e.g., a song or instrumental piece) to be protected by copyright.

First, the work must be original to its author, meaning that you must create the work yourself rather than copying it. Second, the work must be fixed in a tangible medium of expression, meaning that the work must be written, recorded, or otherwise preserved for a reasonable period of time.

How to Create a Copyright Provided both of the above requirements are satisfied, the work is automatically protected by copyright. For example, singing an original song before a live audience does not satisfy the second requirement—thus, there is no copyright protection—whereas recording a demo of an original song satisfies both requirements and automatically results in copyright protection.

Registration and Notice of a Copyright Although a copyright is automatically created as stated above, it is prudent to register the copyright and give notice of its existence. These relatively simple steps serve a valuable evidentiary purpose in the event someone attempts to infringe on another’s copyright.

To register a copyrighted work, an artist must provide the Copyright Office with a properly completed application, a $30 filing fee for each application, and the required number of nonreturnable deposits of the work being registered.

Information and registration applications can be found at www.copyright.gov or by contacting

Backstage Pass An extended middle digit, by the way, to the Pageant staff for continuing to chatter at high volume all throughout Fleck’s quiet soloing, despite insistent shush-ing from the nearby crowd. May the road ahead of you wind long and weary, and may all of your favorite pants develop gaping holes in the crotch. That is all.

—Taylor Upchurch

Regan Off Broadway, June 3 If a band rocks in the forest but no one is there to hear them, do they make a sound? Well, fortunately, I don’t have to answer that exact riddle, but it popped into my mind at Off Broadway on June 3, where I’d gone to see Richmond, Virginia, singer-songwriter Regan for the first time. Only a handful of people were there, and nearly all were band members and friends. It’s a unique experience seeing an act in an empty house. If they’re bad, you feel sorry for them and perhaps a little embarrassed to be there yourself.

If they’re very good, you wish other people were there to see them, but you’re happy you made it down for the intimate affair. Regan was very good, indeed, making a sound that the small

E N T E R TA I N M E N T L AW the Copyright Office at 202-707-3000. It should be noted that the registration applications are different for a “musical work” (e.g., written song lyrics and melody) and a “sound recording.”

Notice of a claim of copyright is accomplished by certain words or symbols on the copyrighted material. The proper form of notice for a “musical work” is (1) the word “Copyright,” the abbreviation “Copr.” or the symbol “©”; (2) the year of first publication; and (3) the name of the owner of the copyright. For example, “© 2003 John Doe.” For a “sound recording,” the symbol P inside a circle should replace the ©. The distinction is that the © protects works that are visually perceptible (e.g., sheet music), whereas the P inside a circle protects works that are not visually perceptible (e.g., audio recordings on a compact disc).

Length of Copyright Protection Generally, a copyright lasts from the time of creation until 70 years after the death of the author. For joint works, a copyright lasts for 70 years after the death of the last author.

Daniel K. Mannion is an attorney at McCarthy, Leonard, Kaemmerer, Owen & McGovern, L.C., in Chesterfield. from page 22

group of us heard loud and clear.

Comparisons are sometimes a frustrating obligation when reviewing an unfamiliar artist, but for the record, Regan has a warm, bracing vocal style that has been compared to Sheryl Crow (somewhat apt), Edie Brickell (Regan’s more selfassured and interesting), and Björk (hmm…perhaps in occasional bursts of exuberant emotion, but I didn’t really get this one). I experienced Regan as a sweeter, less mannered Melissa Etheridge blended with Sheryl Crow’s easy way with a lyric and strong pop instincts. Mostly, though, Regan was just terrific being herself.

Her recently released third CD, Coming or Going?, is filled with tuneful rockers and emotionally direct ruminations on life and love.

Naturally, she performed a goodly number of songs from the disc, including “Molly,” which featured terrific drumming by Robbie Sinclair; “Carry On,” a tune in which Regan shifted the pitch of her voice beguilingly from a husky lower register to a potent higher one; and a slightly Jamaican-flavored number called “I Will Do,” which was a real pleasure. The lyric talked about “giving it all she had to give,” which was pretty much what Regan did for the whole show. She

announced “Rollin’” as a song that “everyone seems to latch onto,” and indeed, it was catchy.

But there were three knockout performances in the latter part of her set that particularly grabbed me. There was a muscular, immaculately performed number from her new album called “Blue Skies,” which Off Broadway’s optimal acoustics rendered blissful for the small crowd.

There was a surprising cover of Peter Gabriel’s “Digging in the Dirt,” which was given an entirely new (and perhaps more emotive) slant by the young singer. And there was the deeply affecting “Nickel,” another tune from her album. Regan told of how the song had to do with “traveling around earning nickels and dimes,” dealing with the homesickness and uncertainty of the road.

The country-style weeper was genuinely haunting and featured a dramatic part in the chorus where Regan’s voice leapt a full octave, delivering the kind of memorable performance that can mesmerize a crowd, whether ten or 10,000 in number. Rocking and lulling in equal measure, Regan has the singing and songwriting chops to earn herself more than just “nickels and dimes” down the road.

—Kevin Renick

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

28

QUEENS OF THE PORN AGE: SG’s Mysterious Madams Collide

What is your favorite color?

Olivia: Black, like my heart.

Missy: Pink.

What’s in your CD player right now? On your television? The book on your nightstand?

Olivia: The Lovemakers and the Epoxies; Missy: The Postal Service; I wish I had Three’s Company, Crocodile Hunter, cable so that I could see Sex and the City; Cartoon Network, and Sex and the City; I am currently reading magazines mostly; The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien.

I have an obsession.

If you died and came back to earth as an animal, which animal would you be?

Olivia: I’d love to be a pampered Missy: I would be a stray cat that went on domestic pussycat, but I just don’t think new adventures every day, like mehitabel from I am going to get that lucky. the Don Marquis archy and mehitabel poems.

Carnivore, omnivore, or herbivore?

Olivia: I’m a herbivore; anyone who spends five seconds looking at my profile would know that.

President Bush: stud or dud?

Olivia: I am so over caring about that guy...

Who would win in a fight, Avril or Britney?

Olivia: I have no idea who these people are.

Public displays of affection?

Olivia: I love PDAs and indulge whenever possible. Making other people uncomfortable to be around you is an art.

What is the most gratifying thing about running SG? Olivia: Watching people use a new feature for the first time. It’s so nerve-wracking to make something new, like the groups or chat, and then watch as people play on it, but it is amazing to see people use features in an entirely different way than anticipated.

And the least?

Olivia: The whiners and the drama-hounds, and the people that try to deconstruct our intent for SG and assign it to devious purposes.

Missy: Herbivore.

Missy: Dud.

Missy: Britney; she is muscular from all those dance moves. She could break that poor little Canadian girl in two.

Missy: I like holding hands, but there is no need to act like junior high school kids at the mall.

Missy: I get to take pictures for a living. I get to meet tons of super-cool people. I work with amazing girls every day. I feel like I am making a difference in my own little way toward broadening society’s vision of what is beautiful. I guess that was four most gratifying things; I couldn’t pick just one.

Missy: A hundred e-mails a day. I wish that there were more hours in the day for me to answer all of them. I am really uptight about making sure that my in box is empty, and I feel a little like Sisyphus or a postal employee sometimes. No matter how hard I work, the next day there are just as many e-mails as the day before. I really do like communicating with all of the girls and all of the wonderful collaborations that people approach me about, but it can get a bit overwhelming.

SuicideGirls: punk rock porn or alternative art?

Olivia: Both!

Missy: Does it matter, really? It is both. It just depends on who’s looking.

On the Cover

from page 15

showing their face in the photographs, and maintaining a standard of image quality.

LIMBO GIRLS When a female member “goes pink” but their first photo set has not yet been uploaded, they are considered to be in “limbo.” (“Going pink” refers to the color a member’s posts change to when they become an SG.) New girls are featured twice weekly, Tuesdays and Fridays, as well as on special New Girl Weeks, when there is at least one new girl uploaded every day.

CALENDAR & MAGAZINE SECTIONS Just when it seems as if there couldn’t be any more special goodness to find on SG, they manage to squeeze in some more with the Calendar and Magazine sections. Members are allowed to upload events into the internationally searchable calendar of events, and they can read and comment on works of fiction, feature articles, and interviews submitted by SG members.

So, is SuicideGirls punk porn or alternative art? I would conclude that it is both, because it takes the art of pornography to a whole new level. SG is a community full of features to help people—people who are into fashion, music, art, film, and a little nudity—band together, free from discrimination. SG is a unique, one-of-akind Web site that has been featured on Nightline, on Larry King Live, in Spin magazine, and in various other print, radio, and television venues. Two hundred thousand weekly visitors would agree, and with roughly 800 women applying for suicideship a month, I don’t think SG will be fading out anytime soon.

“SuicideGirls are known as being beautiful, smart, sexy, unique, and real. There is an irresistible connection to the girls and to the community that you can’t get on any other Web site.” Suicide Stacie

http://www.suicidegirls.com

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